This is Home. An oasis in the midst of mind's agonizing noise and bustle, birth and death. Abode of Spring, where consciousness springs, where Silence makes room for breath and breezes and birdsong. Where the moaning mourning resistance to death recedes and quietens and allows Life to be. Oh, painful the separation from this place! Not wanting to leave again, to again step out, step in, to time and mine and me. Why, Spring, don't your green vines spread and brighten all corners of this pitiful mind? Why do we only return to you when the noises are too loud or painful? Ache away, heart, the ache of un-wanted wants and un-needed needs. Breath the green that is always here ...ever present...ever waiting. Tired mind, exhausted from infinite spinning with recycled thread Over and through and over again. When will it end? Take away these spinning tools, Lord. I want to be that chameleon, who, in his very translucence, is one with the Abode who gave rise to him.