Does who we are begin with breath,
depend on form or end with death? –
Strip away these roles, these names
and tell me what remains
And who you really are,
who you really are
We measure success
by the things we accrue
or the bonds that we form,
or the deeds we do
But these too shall pass,
as hard as we try
to hold on to form; form will die
But inherent in this dance of form
Is the chance to see what’s yet unborn
And the choice to throw this chance away
And be caught up in the play
of who we think we are,
who we think we are
This is your lifetime; it could end at anytime.
Where is your attention?
Where is your prayer?
Where is your song?
In a fortunate life,
comes a call to be free
From the cycle of bondage and misidentity,
to wake from the dream
and finally realize
the truth of one’s being
before the body dies
So before the final scene is past,
see the screen on which it’s cast.
See what’s seeing this me and you.
And then you will see who you really are.