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The silent buddhist knows how to be,

invisible, practicing, unconditionally free.

He knows how to exist among the sheep,

who wait for the wolf to put them to sleep.

He guards every shepherd and himself is a wolf,

who only will give and never himself,

make a ripple for others to see,

that I am a Buddhist and inside I’m free.

But oh how I long to practice and express,

the Buddhist path among all this mess.

For one day I hope the orderly be,

wild and untamed and above all that’s free.

Because inside I know one day I’ll escape

and make a sound for all those to drape,

into a cloak not worn by a sheep,

but a silent Buddhist who lives with the sheep.

And until the day that I drop my disguise,

Buddhism will leave and leave nothing to hide,

because what is silent can never be seen,

not understood but only in being.

So when silence comes remember this song,

remember each other to whom we belong,

where all of us dance as wolfs, shepherd and sheep,

in the resting place

where Buddhism sleeps.


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