The earthy voice of smoke

The earthy voice of smoke,
A friendly, mindful breath,
That centers one who soaks
In centered life uncoaxed
By insular duress.

When flame dispels the less
Than wholeness placed in I,
The warmth of pleasantness
Embraces one with rest,
No longer self-derived.

The tranquil spirit flies
Beneath the lowest deeps,
And lifts the mental guise
Of separateness to rise
In wholeness, which it keeps.

The spirit, speaking, seeps
Away socratically;
The riddles that are heaped
By ego, we let sleep
And automatically

Our fear, erratically 
Responsive, finds the soul:
It enters practically,
Assured, at that it leaves
Transformed without its toll.

The newly livened role
Of yesteryear recalled
From back beyond the shoals
Before a doldrum's hold
On entities involved

In several worldly stalls,
Until the spirit great
United one with all,
From there to let revolve
The thing to contemplate.

That thing of being–fate
Or what a wretch presumes 
It is, when one relates
Their wants against the gate 
Of happenstance's rooms.

Within the smoky plume
The evidence is shown;
The warmth replacing gloom,
The want removed resumes
As knowledge that one's own

Desire is not alone,
Among so many more,
But deepest in our bones
We all alike bemoan
For happiness to score.

So, happiness restored,
And seeing now the ways
The webs of life can shore
Up everything and more,
I leave the wanting craze.

The thing to do is praise.
I read that once, it seems
Correct to me, to gaze
Out on creation's rays
Like waking in a dream.

And praise how much it teems
And sing the grace to be
Let in on all the scene
Without the need to deem
Things aid or harm to me.