The Mind That Never Was

Ah, this is the mind that never was.
It never was, because, because . . .

No one could ever find such a one, but
all the same, we loved the way it created
our world, filling it with things, people,
and places — the wondrous ingredients
of every life, all unique but interconnected.

We loved how it could make everything and
anything appear out of nothing, the very same
state in which we now exist, but without ever
having any real existence itself, like magic!

If that seemed strange, we didn’t care —
we loved this mind as if it was our one and
only best friend, a friend who would be loyal
to the end, even when all else disappeared,
this no-thing remained to keep us entertained.

Some said it was a window, others a mirror,
reflecting a universe of infinite possibilities.

Some danced before their mirror of mind,
entranced by their own reflection, granting
themselves the power to expand out into
the furthest reaches of their own being, as if
they were no mere nothingness, but a miracle
too marvelous for names or words to describe.

They wandered there, as if in a hall of mirrors,
forever enamored of their own creation, and thus
it was that time was born, to measure the distance
between one mirror and the next, one life and
the next, just so that everything did not happen
all at once, at least in the mind that never was.

This mind was change, it fed on change, it relied
on change, its delight was change, its very
continuity depended on the law of change, and so
when it encountered that which doesn’t change,
it suddenly ceased moving and fell silent.

Within that silence a nowhere space appeared
in which this mind itself is spawned and dies.

We loved that space, that spaceless place, where
nothing rises up to be stroked or poked, praised
or blamed, gathered or loosed, freed or bound —

we turned around, and there it was, the one and
only perfect ground from which all minds appear
like trees, we love their leaves, we truly do,
and when the autumn wind blows through,
we’re carried off on a wanton breeze,
adrift in a mind that never was,
silently, silently floating.

falling leaf


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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