Two poems by Mary Oliver and Wei Wu Wei

Mary Oliver: The Lilies Break Open Over the Dark Water

Inside
 that mud-hive, that gas-sponge,
  that reeking
   leaf-yard, that rippling

dream-bowl, the leeches'
 flecked and swirling
  broth of life, as rich
   as Babylon,

the fists crack
 open and the wands
  of the lilies
   quicken, they rise

like pale poles
 with their wrapped beaks of lace;
  one day
   they tear the surface,

the next they break open
 over the dark water.
  And there you are
   on the shore,

fitful and thoughtful, trying
 to attach them to an idea—
   some news of your own life.
     But the lilies

are slippery and wild—they are
 devoid of meaning, they are
  simply doing,
   from the deepest

spurs of their being,
 what they are impelled to do
  every summer.
   And so, dear sorrow, are you.

Wei Wu Wei: For Síle (in "Open Secret")

When the beetle sees, it is I that am looking,
When the nightingale sings, it is I that am singing,
When the lion roars, it is I that am roaring.

But when I look for myself, I can see nothing —
  for no thing is there to be seen.

Síle cannot see me either, for when she tries to see me it is
  I who am looking: she can do nothing — for only I can do anything.
The beetle can say that also, and Síle, for we are not three,
  nor two, nor one.

I am the sea too, and the stars, the wind and the rain,
I am everything that has form — for form is my seeing of it.
I am every sound — for sound is my hearing of it,
I am all flavours, each perfume, whatever can be touched,
For that which is perceptible is my perceiving of it,
And all sentience is mine.

They have no other existence, and neither have I —
  for what they are I am, and what I am they are.
What the universe is I am, and what I am the universe is.
And there is no other at all, nor any one whatsover. 
Gate, gate, paragate, parasamgate, Bodhi! Svaha!