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The Thief I Called My Son

"The Thief I Called My Son" draws from one of Buddhism's most startling teaching images—the idea that we've spent our whole lives nurturing a stranger at our table while our true inheritance gathers dust. Rooted in the Surangama Sutra's confrontation with delusion, this slow-burning blues meditation follows a weary traveler who thought his learning made him wise, only to discover he'd been feeding the wrong mouth all along.

The song moves through regret into recognition: that the awareness which finally sees the thief was never the thief itself. What we are was never missing. The prodigal can come home.
Part of an ongoing project translating classical Buddhist scripture into American blues-folk vernacular—bringing ancient dharma to the crossroads where the spirituals meet the twelve-bar truth.
Written and performed by The William Altig Choir.

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Lyrics:
[Verse 1:]
They said I was the wise one, had the scriptures memorized
Sat at the Teacher's table, thought I'd won myself the prize
But all that holy learning couldn't save me from my sin—
I raised a thief up as my son and let him right on in

[Verse 2:]
This purple-gold body, shining bright like temple glass
Won't mean a thing when judgment comes, won't give my soul a pass
The lust and muck of lifetimes got me rooted where I stand
I fed the wrong mouth at my table, built my house on sand

[Chorus:]
Oh, the long road keeps on winding, and the wheel keeps turning round
I mistook a thief for my own son, now I'm lost and never found
All my knowing was just showing what I didn't understand—
The treasure was already mine, but I couldn't see my hand

[Verse 3:]
I thought my seeing-heart was living somewhere in my chest
Didn't know the world outside me was a dream I'd self-possessed
Every mountain, every river, every star up in the sky—
Just pictures that I painted on the canvas of my mind's eye
See, I was out there chasing what was never really gone
Crying for my birthright while I'm sitting on the throne
The thief ate at my table every night for all these years
While my true inheritance was drowning in my tears

[Verse 4:]
Now I'm standing at the crossroads where the Lord showed the way
He said, "Son, that mind that wanders—that ain't you, now come what may"
The one who sees the thief ain't the thief, don't you know?
Put down that borrowed sorrow, let your original light show

[Final Chorus:]
Oh, the long road's finally ending, and the wheel can cease to turn
When you see the thief ain't family, there's just one thing left to learn:
What you are was never missing, never born and cannot die—
Come on home now, weary traveler, no more need to wonder why

[Tag:]
(slow, almost whispered)
I raised a thief up as my son...
But the prodigal's come home

The Thief I Called My Son

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