The Beach (I)

Is there a set path, a way that I am to take
To reach that close-lying bay,
Where we shall take our journey to the
Distant shore, one and one and one?
The misty edge clears up briefly and
Forth I charge onto the sand
Then all again is wrapped, all in fog,
Slowing, stopping, twisting, waiting.
Waiting, waiting, waiting; Waiting:
An act of man wherein man does not act,
Trap of soul and snare of being, looking to have
Another act and act well so that I need not fear.
But I need not fear, even when I act, for
The world has been overcome and with the world,
Fear. Only in waiting is fear retained for
Waiting indwells the world and passes with the world,
And all we fear to lose in waiting is finally lost.
Now a new window opens, strange breeze
Wafts and the mist fades and I see the waves.
Do I rush or do I wait? To wait is to die,
To sleep, to pass into shadow, but I am
Man. And should I fail or all fail still
I am and the act is mine and I live and we
Live.

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