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The Secret

It holds a secret dear
yet the secret is not really a secret;
an open secret it really is
yet not known to those who not know.

It speaks outright in openness
not hinting, not hiding, not instigating;
yet projections ridicule it as riddles
oblivious to what it speaks.

So it holds the secret dear
for it knows even if it is said or not,
it cannot be understood or comprehended
until realised, the secret remains a secret.

Still its nature is as such
its excitement in revealing;
yet when it reveals its secret
projection shuns and thinks a sham.

So it holds its secret dear
because its secret is so dear;
much lavished than those high-priced treasures
much cherished than those well-known positions.

What would it keep it for?
Not for others, but its own salvation.
For when one is released so will others,
there is surely no other way.

What others? What one?
Indeed that itself is its secret.
A secret only known to One
an open secret not yet known to those not know.

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