In Ritual Evil Gets It's Ego Stroked

In ritual, evil gets it's ego stroked; Fires attended in brassy censors, Choking on expensive foreign smoke; Incense from a dead god's pagoda. Evil lives because we do not mind it; We find it necessary to find a balance: A world half in fire, and half in ice; Good and evil held in a chalice. In evil, man gets his karma coded; Fires which start in his spinning core. All his idols and statues got melted So he sits and stares at a tattered mandala: Though meditation gave him indigestion, And worry beads worried too much. He's not the sort to mind temptation; He sits to wait for emancipation. In man, abstraction has reached it's limit; He's the whole world, and it's in him. Enlightenment comes in a single minute; His mind like wispy smoke spiraling upwards, For questions always are answer seeking, And answers elusive as desert rain: The freedom you seek was never in death, But free and invisible, as each breath.