Abdicate thy haughty loft, that cursed perch, imagined so tall, 
that to heaven one seems to fall.
Relinquish thy will, that fear of what’s dark, thoughts thought to steer, 
that God becomes a clock.
Surrender thy conflict, the punishable other against the praised self, 
that the world becomes alien.
Swallow thy pride, that self-important gaze, supporter of the world, 
that God dons thy image.
Abandon thy folly:
see heaven not vertically but internally –
and God not materially but spiritually –
the world not dualistically but intimately –
and God not anthropomorphically but transcendentally –

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