In swirling samsara,

enmeshed in worries,

lost in the noise,

how do I choose to be?

Is sun reserved for green leaf,

sanguinity selectively imbued?

Buoyant above sludge she stands,

red petals unsullied,

leaves generous, open palms.

I begin to understand.

Birthed in muck,

resolute she stands.

Letting world around whirl.

As she unfurls petal,

I open inner eye.

Like her I then ascend,

leaving behind swampy mire.

The sun becomes mine,

 as does Divine.

I open to receive,

choosing to see.

The lotus and leaf,

the sun and samsara;

an infinite extension.

Drop-like on waxy leaf,

distinct yet fleeting form.

Fully present,

I can unattached be.

Padma Patra ivambhasa.

A lotus must wither,

seeding new flower

A droplet must into vapor turn,

reappearing as dew.

And, just like lotus,

I’m not this, but I am that.

©IK 2020