Birthday-

Blaze, Blaze, Blaze.
Your birth happens each day
so you look for the candle that burns both ends.
In the theatre, you watch that same singing movie
over and over, but in random order and latest costume.
Dress it up in hopes of making it fresh,
while it rots and smells through the pretty lace
that distracts for only a time and then stinks
no matter what the wrapping.
Bound in this rotting cocoon, you wiggle and squirm
to see beyond yourself.
If you only knew your own mind,
you would see the movie for what it is,
an insulation that speaks itself,
drowning out the Song that sings what you Are.
The process does not rely on something to generate it.
We 'are' the constant birth that happens regardless.
Be 'here' and let go. Let go, and be 'here'.
Just sit...falling back into the Song that sings you-