Harmonious winds furrow around inlets of the ears of perception,
Encasing its whisper, a message from the ancients.
Muster all of your strength, gather all of your pride,
Surrender the mighty ego, to ascend, absolve, and then subside.
The pensive performer thrums their string-ed instrument,
Interweaving. Dark to light.
Inside is abundant safety, while the show remains lacquered outside.
And light to dark.
May you watch what you do, wary of the ones who lie,
May there be courage when faced with the task of insight.
Within you will awake, without you will rest,
Withheld, you will lose, with, you will rise.
The balance hangs in the divots of his palms,
Collecting drops of sweat from the intention and the song.
Are you prepared, afraid, and anxious?
Are you aware, atoned, gracious?
After an eloquent finale, the dressing room is silent, but a buzz of frenetic lights,
Between calloused fingers, the smoke of a rolled cigarette curls into a luna crescent.
The simple chair may as well be a throne, as the performer kicks off their peeling boots,
Eager for the next show. But all is over, for now.
Lessons never end, unless you are not prepared,
And if that time arises, the balance has been tangled up in grey.
Bless your balance be restored.
JASPER QUINCE 
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