You won’t find it in a test tube,
nor at the end of a deduction,
for it itself no object,
nor the fruit of intellection.

All the mystics praise it,
and it built the pretty temples,
it is itself so close to you,
it’s intercontinental.

For it’s something we all share,
the spark that’s there within,
just watch the children playing,
in us adults it grows dim.

And the hardest thing of all,
it’s that when you try to find it,
you’ll never hear its call,
it’s a quest built upon blindness.

In spite of protestations,
this spark is always glowing,
in acts of human kindness,
is when it’s most clearly showing.

But there is no how or why,
for when you think you’ve got it,
it’s like butter through your fingers,
and we can never stop it.

So just learn to pay attention,
to the little things of life,
no need to go to the himalayas,
or exchange for a new wife.

You’ll find it in the ordinary,
like a diamond in the rough.
But this precious stone is everywhere,
it permeates all stuff.

Stop trying to attain,
for there’s nothing you can do,
but love as though it were everything,
and there’ll be nothing you can’t do.