How can you expect to be one with life,
with god,
with whatever word you'd like,
as a place holder of the externally, eternally, numinous;
When you are not even one in and of your self?
This is not some metaphorical visage,
But of nut and bolts,
nerves and neurons.

There are many paths of accomplishing the same thing,
the yolking of one's self,
and yet each tradition steeps themselves like bitter tea,
Disguising the taste permanently.