Only on a fully moonlit night, Truth appears
And its fragrance enriches whoever waits near.
Then suddenly, just as it appears
On no appointed schedule, it disappears again...
Only silence marks the empty spot from out of which it sprang.
Some try to dig it out, but manage to extract only
Bits and pieces of petals, stem, and occasional root.
None can pull from the ground intact
What is one with its nurturing soil;
Nor can they harm this precious flower they pursue...
Because it cannot be possessed, it is deathless.
Perhaps the harm in their pursuit, if any,
Is the almost impossible discovery that the beauty
They so long to possess does not live apart from them;
Rather, it lives for them – even in those moments
When they tear it apart, trying in vain to possess
What it gives freely to those who die for the sight of it.
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