The moving finger writes;and having writ,
moves on:nor all the piety nor wit
shall lure it back to cancel half a line
nor all thy tears wash out a word of it.


Withdraw your life force into the centre of the tree of life.The spine,and bask there in the cool shade of inner piece.
All the sensory tumult dies away,drink the wine of bliss from the flask of your devotion.
Commune inward with your devine beloved.
All in stillness,listen:for the singing blessedness will satisfy your every heart's desires.And entertain you forever with melodies of perfect wisdom.

Ah,my beloved.Fill the cup of my mind with the ambrosia of bliss that flows from the cask of estacy.Only in union with the will my awareness of past errors I and my fear of the evil they could bring to me in future,all dispelled.
Delay me no longer as I seek the beloved.Tommorow I may depart this body forcibally,my atoms strewn among a pass of countless form:intoxicate me-yes even today- with devine devotion.