Transmigration
Bill Buchanan
(From A FEW CRANE CRIES - Poems - copyrighted. Reprinted with permission of the author previous to his passing. The Author, a retired Professor, applied himself between the Vivekananda Monastery and Mother’s Trust in Ganges Michigan - with yearly visits to Sri Lanka and India)
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Every blade of grass has its
Angel that bends over it and whispers, “Grow, grow!” Talmud |
| When I lived as a
blade of grass in a garden washed by dew dried by wind printed by frost nourished by Mother’s dark soil my white root grazed by friendly worms slender and green stretching and stretching I reached up and up I spent my whole life growing out of myself into my Self.
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