He sadly sat beside the road;
His engine’s gasket blown –
His car was old and cold and towed;
The man was left alone.
‘I need to find a place to stay
Until it’s fixed,’ he spoke –
But when he rose to walk away,
Arrived a band of folk.
‘You’re truly warmly welcome here
To while away the night –
We’re monks,’ they said, ‘and living near,
As well as brothers might.’
With thanks, the man inclined his head,
And through the dusky gloom –
He followed where the Abbot led,
Who showed him to a room.
But when he tried to sleep, he found
A noise that started small –
The most surprising, splendid sound
Emerging through the wall.
It made him think of sirens song –
The secret chimes of Mars –
The shrouded space where dreams belong –
The voice beyond the stars.
It made him think of love and peace –
The hidden world behind –
The perfect place where problems cease
To vex the waking mind.
The morning broke.
The man awoke;
‘What was it, monks?’ he cried.
‘Alas, we cannot say,’ they spoke –
‘You’re not a monk,’ they sighed.
‘I have to know!’ the man explained,
And so, without remorse –
He joined the house, and prayed and trained,
To find the noise’s source.
He took the Test of Absent Bliss;
The Woes of Anguish Drowned –
He braved the Gulf of Faith’s Abyss –
And all to find the sound.
And when he’d pained and strained and bled,
And most his life had passed –
‘You’re ready now,’ the others said,
‘To see the source at last.’
They took him where the air was fair,
And where, inside a trunk…
I’d love to tell you what was there.
Alas, you’re not a monk.
Sky Pilot 