The Milk of Millennia

This camel saddle sometimes leans this way, sometimes that way.  
Remove from me the burdensome load so I can see the garden of the righteous.  
Like the companions of the cave, I graze in the garden of generosity, awake yet asleep.  
Whether I sleep on my right or left side, I do not turn except like a ball without choice.  
By your turning, I move to the right or to the left, O Lord of religion.  
For hundreds of thousands of years, I have been in flight like particles of air without choice.  
If I have forgotten that time and state, I have a memory in the dream of departure.  
I escape from this four-pegged, four-branched place and leap into the pasture of the soul from this resting place.  
I taste the milk of those past days from the nurse of sleep, O Eternal One.  
The whole world flees from its own choice and existence into the intoxication of its own head.  
To escape awareness for a moment, they place the shame of wine and music upon themselves.  
All know that this existence is a trap, and voluntary thought and remembrance are hell.