Fort Point

Today a blessed breeze carries me back almost six decades
to a little pier jutting out adjacent to the Golden Gate Bridge
in San Francisco, called Fort Point.
It is Sunday, and in the womb of that timeless afternoon,
as I sit silently by my father, the two of us nominally fishing for crabs,
the cry of fluttering seagulls echoes lazily in the warm wind.
Inhaling once again the intoxicating fragrance of old creosote
smeared on the pier’s pilings, stirred with the salty sea aromas
and the richness of the drying fish flavors mingling in the sun,
I gaze out across the bay, speckled with the fluttering white sails
of dozens of boats crisscrossing through the emerald waters.
Time and distance dissolve in the perfection of this moment,
and tears stream freely down my face.
This was before I knew anything at all, and yet,
sitting here in the midst of my reveries, I realize that
everything I needed to know was known completely
in that moment, and my father knew it too.
Now it all passes through me like this soft summer wind,
and I am like a swinging door, no longer remembering
in from out, past from present –
just enjoying this meandering breeze of memory,
this perfect afternoon in timelessness.


frt point





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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4 Responses to Fort Point

  1. Oh how this touches me deeply – the mix of memories connected with one’s beloveds, and the unshakeable realisation that one was ever ‘onto it’ – before one had a clue it was to be the mystery that would shape one’s life. And I adore your “swinging door” metaphor: perfect!
    Thank you dear Bob – you are a gem. ❤

  2. D2 says:

    I can’t say I understood the swinging door metaphor..But reading this poem, made my tears run. It’s so beautiful. Thank you Bob.

    • Bob OHearn says:

      Thanks, D2!

      ” What we call ‘I’ is just a swinging door which moves when we inhale and exhale. You and I are just swinging doors. This kind of understanding is necessary.” ~ Shunryu Suzuki Roshi

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