Classic Poem

What temple are you going to, pilgrim,
what temple are you going to?
What ritual objects will you use
and how will you take them with you?
Riding on men's shoulders, what
celestial city will you enter?
Of bones the lovely pillars,
of solid flesh the walls!
this golden roof made of the brain,
of the senses all the doors,
the veins—waves of coursing rivers
and the temple the unbounded self.
What temple are you going to, Pilgrim,
to the door of what temple?
On the fair throne of the spirit
the earth's Lord ruling;
this golden light of the intellect
the crown on his head,
this fair temple of the body—
center of the universe.
Inside is God, outside the eyes—
what town do you go looking for?
God dwells in the depths—
how far you drift over the surface!
Are you seeking? Apply your heart
flaring bright as a glowing lamp.
Your companion on the journey—God,
walking with you, pilgrim.
God kisses the hand
that does the golden work.
His secret fingers touch
the brows of those who serve.
At the edge of the road God sings
in the melodies of birds.
In songs of grief God sings
humankind's afflictions.
But nowhere does he show himself
to the fleshly eye of the blind.
What temple are you going to, pilgrim,
to what strange new land?
Turn back, turn back! Oh go and catch
the feet of humankind!
Rub balm on all the sorrow
and on the smarting wounds.
As you are men, so you must make
God's heavenly face to smile.