Magic Key

You can make a weapon out of everything.
Killing is easier than saving from suicide.

You wake up almost at noon and go to make Turkish coffee.
You turn on the recording of the great mantra that adjusts all the chakras.
You wait for the foam to start appearing,
you inhale the heady smell of life,
which has long encroached on Eternity.
You meditate on smells and tastes, on sounds, on touches,
on blood murmur and the play of neurons.

He spoke to you once, your Invisible Teacher,
tried to make you a Warrior in that timeless school.
And what instead?
Peace and quiet. Playing the violin and contemplating the waves,
rolling through space and leaving a slight ruffle
in a small pond on the other side of the river Ros'.

He talked to you, you listened to him carefully.
You had no doubts, you trusted him like a little innocent child.
Your back straightened like a long muffled spring.
Your eyes were filled with depth,
your heart was overwhelmed with  wisdom,
your brain was preoccupied with cosmic play.
You could have become a hero then,
but you realized just in time,
that you cannot be limited to any role.
And it's great that there is a will,
the freedom to do whatever you want.
A simple theory is the secret of the heart,
opening with a gold key:
With your love.