Knowing that mind's world of strife is self-inflicted,
Why ever feel confused or confounded?
For isn't a secret game being played out,
Where winning the Beloved's favor is defined by loss?
And what is that but being dislodged of our burdens,
While beholding the mystery of ever-present Self in all?
Then, as mind's knots get undone, and an inner delight released,
Every joy and pain can be felt as more grist for the mill.