The open sky drinks from their circling cup.
The sun wears the gold of their generosity.
When two of them meet, they are no longer two.
They are one, and six hundred thousand.
The ocean waves are their closest likeness
when wind makes from unity the numerous.
This happened to the sun, and it broke into rays.
The disc of the sun does exist, but if you see
only the ray-bodies, you may have doubts.
The human-divine combination is a oneness.
Plurality, the apparent separation into rays.
Friends, we are traveling together.
Throw off your tiredness. Let me show you
one tiny spot of the beauty that cannot be spoken.
I am like an ant that has gotten into the granary,
ludicrously happy, and trying to lug out
a grain that is way too big.