Look, look the allusive self hides among the ego
long enough to away,
disappearing behind
the hand that gestures THERE.
Taste the air for its traces.
It was here.
Raise your nose and
smell the space you last
felt its presence
abiding and so strong.
Our very own self
is so hard to lure
out of the shadows.
Even once.
We turn our glance and
miss the exit of Encounter
that longed for encounter
to arrive all along.
The most pristine table
set for tea, is not enough
to hold the sumptuous
arrival of the we of me.
Hiding ourselves just as
we recognize we have crossed
the threshold of our showing
up for our living - evasive
to the point of distraction.
The thousand things we buy
or do allegedly for the self
are gobbled up by the ego -
a braggart pretender of the soul.
There is but one thing our
core longs for, one thing we desire
above all else; that our me would
sit long enough to brush up
against our we when it blushes
on the scene for its faint showing.
That our every fiber would sit,
coaxing our soul out from all
its millions of crevices just
beyond our reach.
This one thing is our
true, fleeting wholeness.
No comments:
Post a Comment