I had conversations with myself
in the Monk's cell of my mind.
Spoken was the secret of myself weeping
with joy or sadness when no one looked.
Of the feeling of joy
at sunsets and birds
and winds that move
the puff clouds across the sky .
Then the shimmer the palette reflections of sky
in the still lake of rain water.
Of the loving children
with whom I can share these lovely sights.
Of music of beauty
that says what I cannot.
Of the person I am.
Of the person I am not.
Of the role written
by others for me to play.
And the great hunger
for a companion.
A companion to the real me.
A companion not fearful
of the voice from the mind cell.
A scrapping on the wall
of the Monk's cell.
A tapping from beyond.
A hint of music.
A sighed breath.
A scent of spring.
A vision of shafts of sunshine.
A cautious response
and a cautious response
soon made the cell wall a drumhead.
Songs of joy, beauty and happy babble
resound from the instrument.
Sending and receiving messages is
a crescendo of joy and discovery.
Companion we have so much to say.
We have so much
to see and hear.
Trust and love we can have.
They are our building tools.
With them can I leave the Monk's cells?
Open your door
and lets stand in the sunlight.
I know you and your beauty.
I want to be
with that real you.
Companion of the Monk's cell
is that really you?
Is this really me at last?