Near the rose, in this grove of sun-parched, wind-warped madrones
Among the half-dead trees, I came upon the true ease of myself,
As if another person appeared out of the depths of my being,
And I stood outside myself,
Beyond becoming and perishing.
A something wholly other,
As if I swayed out on the wildest wave alive,
And yet was still.
And I rejoiced in being what I was.