In Work I am co-creator with the One Creator,
co-creator with all in the One Creation.
In Work I sow seeds for the Harvest.
A touch, a smile, a benevolent word…
all are seed for Creation.
Yet, what is the fruit of my work?
When I dance on the shore and add my voice
to the songs of the waves,
can I know today that my song will touch a soul
months, years, centuries from now?
Can I know the steps of my dance
will be remembered and retraced,
long after their mark has been washed clear of
the sandy beach?
If this is so, shall I not rewrite the song?
Make the tune more melodious, or the
words more noble, perhaps?
Add a swift spin or an elegant dip to the dance
in vainglorious tribute
But then creation Work will have ceased
and ego work commenced.
And if my singing is lost to the uproar of the sea,
if the imprint of my dance disappears
with the sweep of the next tide,
do I withhold the song, refrain from dancing?
For Whom am I Working?
If I cease the Work of sowing, I cease being a co-creator.
And then what am I?
In strained faith, I continue to sow.
The harvest of my work I leave
to the Harvester, Who knows when fruition is complete.