Crown of Creation


Suspended between dark and dawn, a bittersweet loneliness washes over me
in this hushed, expectant moment. It is both personal, and yet somehow also a reflection of the collective consciousness. Indeed, there seems to be a kind of wounded-ness inherent in this beautiful but fragile human form – this humble temple of art and soul, doubt and hope, fear and resistance, love and yearning.

I recall a childhood picture: Jesus, chest opened, pointing to a luminous heart nested within a crown of thorns. I knew that there was something important being revealed about life in that illustrated juxtaposition of compassion and suffering that I needed to learn, but any attempt by mind to figure it out proved both futile and frustrating. Something else was clearly required. Moreover, any of the doctrinal explanations I encountered never really satisfied me – only by slipping into that heart-space myself did I begin to get a feeling for the paradox of wounds.

In the soft grey predawn drizzle, not a breeze stirs and yet, it suddenly occurs to me that the old Yaqui Brujo was right – there is a crack between the two worlds of dark and light. As I gaze through my window, my spirit extends out and soars through that crack. Have I been magically shifted into another realm, or has it always been this very world, but I – so hypnotized by consensus beliefs and the numbing stream of random thoughts – have been too blind to see?

Impossibly, the many trees before me begin to lean and sway in an orchestrated dance – all in different directions, but perfectly coordinated in a divine choreography that is wild, ecstatic, free! Alive as consciousness itself, they seem at first to wave within me, woven in the shared recognition of our undivided being, until I realize that there is no within, no without, only limitless loving Presence!

Immediately, a joyous choir of blessed birdsong blends into this harmonic chorus of life awaking to itself, celebrating itself as one immense Being, bursting with unbearable Happiness, undulating in synchronous bliss. Have I died? That odd thought momentarily arises, but is quickly washed away in a sudden gentle downpour.

The softly falling rain is pure nectar, sublime water of precious existence, origin of every streaming river spilling through this transparent landscape of bright and sky-like vision, irrigating the dryness of dull despair with the sweet healing moisture of remembrance, remembrance of our innocent primordial nature which has never been divided from its Source – this indescribable Presence.

That living Presence has now become like an enormous aviary, embracing all the vast and varied birdlife within, all the brilliant birdsong, all beautiful breathing beings, with only a translucent rainbow boundary that arcs majestically between what sings within, and the symphonic glory expanding infinitely beyond this fragile love-sifted shell of Heart, garlanded with the Crown of Creation.



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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5 Responses to Crown of Creation

  1. Spectacular vista! The garden is abuzz in glorious revery. Nothing to be accomplished, nowhere to go. Sit down or join in the dance, there is no path to be followed, you’ve never left, we’ve awaited your return. Dry your eyes, it was only a dream.

  2. SkyMccain says:

    Rain on ones face, feeling of the question, what is this IS?

    And the blessed dawn chorus most often leads to the knowing of

    Thankfulness, not about anything in particular, but just thankfulness.

    The question of how long we have left fading like the echo of the last notes of the

    Hermit thrush. There remains only the hope that another songburst

    will follow.

    As you say, Bob, “That living Presence has now become like an enormous aviary,”

    You’ve inspired me, thank you.



    > On 23 January 2016 at 20:23 Feeling To Infinity > wrote: > > Bob OHearn posted: “1999 Suspended between dark and dawn, a bittersweet > loneliness washes over me in this hushed, expectant moment. It is both > personal, and yet somehow also a reflection of the collective consciousness. > Indeed, there seems to be a kind of wounded-ness inher” >

  3. Pingback: Repartee | jeff's zen garden

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