nothing makes a difference.
Blown along cold coasts of reason,
the wordless breeze is winding down now
to a softer part of the feeling, is warm
on the tip of the eye I am keeping
like a lover on this moon.
This moon!
Her naked radiance,
blatant and unashamed,
blasts the billion tiny mirrors
studded diamond-like within my cells,
ablaze with urgent white-light moonshine.
While some wisps of stray grey fog
slyly wrap themselves around us,
we are tempted to the old debate:
“Destiny, or free will?”
Talking breeds its own dilemmas –
streams of concepts chasing mirages –
so we assume no fixed positions, nodding
to each other in that sweet redundancy
ancient loving brings.
We know that anything other than
the most impeccable humor in the face
of delusion merely postpones true serenity.
For no particular reason, or
for every reason there ever could be,
we smile — we’re in no hurry.
That’s true serenity, which is never
anything like the idea of itself.
Neither are you and I, we’re like
nothing conceivable or even perceivable.
We indulge no secret motive to have anything
be other than what it is – a passing phantom
flash of itself, reflected like moonshine
on the shiny black lacquer of itself.
The sheer intensity of this love shines
so strongly our hands open up and something
invisible flies out to blend with infinity!
As I move closer to you (though between us
no distance exists), the subtle movements we make
with our spirit eyes stir visions for beings still waiting
to incarnate, euphorically anticipating our next breath.
We will not disappoint them.
Within the bosom of this fog of forgetfulness,
something seems to persist, impaled by shafts
of intermittent moonshine on the tip of attention.
Grasping at nothing, turning nothing away,
we pause here, poised at the outermost reach
of vision’s lighthouse light beam, transfixed
at the exquisite nexus of darkness and light.
All effort has led us here.
All effort dissolves here.
From this time on, there will be
no landmarks, no buoys.
Somewhere, in the measureless
distance, a fog horn sounds:
I feel you . . .
breathing . . .

Mazie Moon 3


About Bob OHearn

My name is Bob O'Hearn, and I live with my Beloved Mate, Mazie, in the foothills of the Northern California Sierra Nevada Mountains. I have a number of blog sites you may enjoy: Photo Gallery: Essays on the Conscious Process: Compiled Poetry and Prosetry: Verses and ramblings on life as it is: Verses and Variations on the Investigation of Mind Nature: Verses on the Play of Consciousness: Poetic Fiction, Fable, Fantabulation: Poems of the Mountain Hermit: Love Poems from The Book of Yes: Autobiographical Fragments, Memories, Stories, and Tall Tales: Ancient and modern spiritual texts, creatively refreshed: Writings from selected Western Mystics, Classic and Modern: Wisdom of a Spirit Guide: Thank You!
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