In the One unmoving that is faster than the mind,
that even the deities cannot reach, that, being still,
passes beyond others as they run, the Master
of Life establishes the waters.

                                     Isa Upanishad, Verse 4

You seem to know everything—
all that is yours, all that you do not
possess but long for, all the deeds
you’ve done, each apparently
through your own effort.
What you do not know is,
even before you put yourself
to a deed, it had already been done
by someone who prefers
to remain invisible to all of us.
You might not know, but even
the gods and goddesses are
a product of a humble hand’s
miraculous touch—
a hand that knows its business
to perfection, that moves
and yet is beyond any moving-force.
You, all of us, ignoramuses as we are,
we invent our tricks to run ahead
of that fine hand’s touch.
I know how we are established
by a simple wave of that hand;
I know how our deeds progress
under its soft touch, just as
the sea’s green-grey-blue
is magically made out of
its one gentle sweep.
I know that kind, invisible hand;
I know that touch.