The cook pot is blackened
But you easily clean up the mess
With gritty river mud scraped
From your stream of consciousness

Wander up an invisible path
Even the elders don’t know it
Chasing a mysterious girl
Named after an ancient poet

I can’t see her footprints
But I see her shining eye
In the constellations high
Above the blue night sky

Reflection in the mountain lake
Shows me growing worn
But I blink three times quickly
And see that I’m reborn

There’s wisdom plainly hidden
On the edge of mountain cliffs
Stories shared by ancients
Around campfires, becoming myths
Books don’t capture the secrets
For truth look deep into teacups

In this forgotten village
They’re made of bone and marrow
Stubborn as a donkey
Rugged as the buffalo
Giving love like sacred Amma

Monk chants echo through valleys
Low, soft and precise
Repeated through centuries
Many times ever since
Taught by a lost wanderer
With no interest in being found

Prayer flags amplify
Take noble words higher
Attenuate on a frequency
Improbable to detect by wire

I will always return here
Flying high like a hawk or sparrow
Won’t tell you the village name
You find it when you’re able

The maps might give a clue
But not the right directions
You’ll only find the magic
By following inner vision

In the forgotten village
This village is forgotten
Deliberately mistaken
Not meant for finding
Books reveal their secrets
Obvious in endless myth
Your own forgotten village