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The One Who is at Home

Each day I long so much to seeThe true teacher. And each time At dusk when I open the cabin Door and empty the teapot, I think I know where he is: West of us, in the forest.

Or perhaps I am the one Who is out in the night, The forest sand wet under My feet, moonlight shining On the side of the birch trees, The sea far off gleaming.

And he is the one who is At home. He sits in my chair Calmly; he reads and prays All night. He loves to feel His own body around him; He does not leave his house.

Francisco Albanez

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