Outside the library I sat in your folding chair.
On the grass you were cross-legged at my feet.
I did not see it then-- why you were there-
but went on pontificating in my seat.
Teacher you called me, and you had in mind
those books you read about the ascended masters,
the ones who would lift you and set you free. To find
such paragons would undo your life's disasters.
But I was only mortal and could not be
the guru you needed, whose healing love and light
would be unfailing. I had my faults, you see.
And they grew even larger in your sight.
Perhaps the answer is to grow more human,
to love what is, and, by loving illumine.