Like a bow on which the archer cannot count.

Sometimes my faith lies in forgotten tatters.

Collapsed on the foothills of the spiritual mount.

It is soothing to pray in this church.

I hope to be buried in this churchyard.

Here my bones will lie as my soul leaves to search.

It will wander the universe, my body within a yard.

I will be forged in formless , nameless reality.

The closeted body will decay into dust.

Seek now knowledge of the true self in humility.

Seeking Atman your true self is a must.

There is a that beyond all knowing.

Attained only by quiet meditating.

…..

Still the intellect

Find nameless reality

It’s the formless that

….

See Psalm 77