Leave it. Let them go;
The bruising car horns,
The tearing blare of amplified film music,
The town with its currency of coins and noise
Has no hold.
Come away,
Leave it.
Let them go,
Come to where the currency is stillness.
How is it that one’s purse can be filled?
Beneath the benign gaze of Arunachala
Whose peak draws up the heart’s delight
And whose slopes soon veil the town,
Take the winding path to a quieter realm.
See the greens and yellows and reds of trees, bushes and earth.
Catch the perfume of soft flowers on the gentle breeze,
Hear the sound of your tread on the sandy earth.
Be patient.
Listen.
Listen to the sounds of many birds singing.
Listen.
Listen to the sound of one bird singing…
Soon you will come to the place of the quiet heart
Where all may take their rest by the silent water,
For here is the currency of stillness.
Luthar.com 
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