Dew and ink

It can’t be said, O Soul, that you exist.
Because of this, you needn’t vanquish sin.
O heart! You’re here, but only as a mist:
no trace of self without you or within.
With our Persistent Self precluded, then,
we’re left with nothing else but the Divine,
Sugatagarbha, the godhead within:
We’re both at once, the Grape and also Vine.
It’s Buddha-Nature or Imago Dei,
without a blemish, stainless, void of fault.
Of course, we all will call it what we may,
the All in the One and the One in the All.
And so, to make yourself a lightning rod,
O Soul, be still and know that I AM God.