by Bob OHearn
There is a kind of knowing, like a tender touching without hands,
that impregnates the whole body in the same way subtle threads
of aromatic incense drift lazily through the burgundy evening,
sifting through and permeating mind’s secret tabernacle
with the mysterious emotion of perpetual extinction.
Like theatrical characters in ghostly motion, all performing
in a pantomime of time, we’ve arrived at dreaming’s crossroads
where we’re waiting for the light to change, waiting for the moment
we’ll be born again, only to find that there’s no other world,
we are not elsewhere, we are here — we always are.
There is no limit or boundary on where or what that is,
nor name or label that applies, just you and I and all creation,
joyously entangled together in the pure wonder of our loving,
warm tears brimming, and no fear at all, nor need of any armor
of cool resistance to the interpenetration of soul and Supreme.
We’ll see again that we are what we have always been:
an innocent radiance shining through the brilliant body
of our diamond being, suffused with every happiness
and pregnant with infinite possibility, expanding in all
directions simultaneously, compassionately unfurling itself
into glad tidings of streaming blessing for the children
conceived in the womb of emptiness, afloat in amniotic fluids
of primal ecstasy, forever free of knowledge, care, or will.
Like some exquisite god that nobody has yet found a way
to worship, we died into life, exhaling that secret sound
in which every light-eyed creature blissfully luxuriates,
our exuberant wake attended by hosts of invisible beings,
all rejoicing for the shining ones who are never born or die.
Originally published here: feelingtoinfinity.wordpress.com
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