It Happens

falling leaf

We like to speak in metaphors and similes –
each creature possesses a magic language
that can often make things seem to be
something other than they are.

All of us are story tellers,
gathered around the campfire
of our own thoughts and memories
and telling tall tales in the falling rain.

Yes, it all begins with some sweet rain:

every drop a blossoming universe where
the hopes and fears of innumerable beings
swim and merge in unspeakable perfection;

where there is nothing outside of Love’s
transmission to itself, within itself;

where there is ever only this enormity,
perfumed through and through
by the elusive fragrance
of vast emptiness.

In the space between thoughts
all is falling, falling through itself
like a strange beautiful song without words,
not obscured in the dustiness of dry speculations,
wry revelations, or faux epiphanies concocted
in the hidden sanctum of an ebony night.

This way of surrender is not a planned event.
Who plans to fall in love to death?

It happens.

At first, as always,
it just happens.

Nothing has changed —
no startling transformation,
no alleluia euphony, no soft refrain
in the dripping rain, no praise, no blame,
no leaving wan flowers by its fresh grave.

That cool moist soil is alive with seeds of love,
ready to open into their own, our own, emptiness,
ready to fill the vacancy left by the death of resistance,
the death looming between us and all we thought we were,
the clue to our own undoing — not a blessed thing, not a sorry,
sane, or sometimes thing, not a tender, touched, or terrible thing,
neither this nor that nor even, at last, in the transparent sky, a sigh.

In Bloom  the surreal arts


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!
This entry was posted in Mystic Poetry, Nonduality and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

9 Responses to It Happens

  1. Bhusunda says:

    “This way of surrender is not a planned event.
    Who plans to fall in love to death?
    It happens. …”
    What wonderful words again Bob, thank you so much for them!

  2. marcelvuijst says:

    Ah sweet death, the kiss of Life 🙂

  3. marcelvuijst says:

    Yeps, but lets not mistake an event for an experience, or do if that makes the trip more vivid and interesting.

  4. marcelvuijst says:

    I can’t wait 😀

    Thanks Brother read it before, and also corresponding with some inspiring dream instructions I received as a kid, funny enough in my early 20’s I was building a universe to my liking which would manifest upon death, eventhough it’s ridiculed as fantasy, I don’t care, I haven’t been constructing for 15 years now but sometimes I dream of that place (no known loved or cherished ones included). It’s fun to dream in any case, I always wake up with a smile.

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