A Song from Ma's Heart

Ma’s Song

I do not make my abode

On the lofty mountain peaks

For the way of ice and snow

Is not my way.

I have pitched my tent beside you, friend,

In the valley of human experience.

Bring me your tender joys

And I will feed them corn

From my own hands

And take delight as they chirp beside my door.

Give me your mewing sorrows;

I will cradle and stroke them lovingly,

For they are mine.

I hang your tears

As prayer flags in the breeze,

I wear your smiles,

A garland on my breast.

Let me iron the creases of perplexity

And sweep the dust of confusion from your heart.

I will untie your heavy boots of weariness

And worship them on the altar of our longing.

 I pour myself into your thirsty cup,

Offer my grief as ointment for your wounds.

The ringing of your laughter and your cries

Has called me to this holy pilgrimage.

I have come to you from the lofty mountain peaks

For the way of ice and snow is not my way.