This world is a realm of imaginary playmates.
As we recline and dream out into space, wordless
in our innocent wonder, the transparent forms
of all manifestation appear to our child eyes
like vitreous floaters, adrift in a radiance
illuminating the mysterious unknown.
Throughout the numberless galaxies
we are renowned for our dreaming.
It’s a special gift, and rare.
In the waking dream we’ll call “last night”,
an anonymous clue is slipped under the door:
“A road once led to Ubar, now Ubar is no more.”
In this marvelous garden of luscious licks,
rainbow worlds of wondrous lyricism may offer
solid leads, yet when soothsayers touch tender tones,
revealing intimate details of life in the Secret Place,
there’ll be unanimous calls for something stronger
than mere nettles at Milarepa’s Tantric Café!
Whispers of rapturous melodies can point
to subliminal destinations of senseless beauty,
yet still be inadmissible evidence regarding
the significance of that note beneath the door.
A tonal architecture of gradual release
may grant some provisional peace at Prajna Pond,
yet who will be the wiser, at the Bridge to Narayana,
if Ubar in all of its glory truly is no more?
To really understand the subtle mechanics
by which the totality of universal manifestation
formed itself into a one-line note in an envelope
that was surreptitiously slipped across the floor,
one needs to return to the Secret Place.
Once we all had a Secret Place,
though we may not remember it anymore.
As children we were nothing but happiness itself,
without the slightest care about any road to Ubar.
Nevertheless, as we grew older, things became
more complicated, happiness began to doubt itself,
and so it slowly retreated back into the Secret Place,
until the light found a new way to express itself
before and after Ubar, before and after
any secrets or dream figments.
Here’s how this works:
During the night the Secret Place incarnates
as its own happiness and strolls in glad astonishment
through pale envious star fields, while gathering in its arms
just the right amount of fragrant light to permeate itself
with the irresistible perfume of a glorious new Dawn.
Then we make coffee, while reading the morning mail
slipped under the door by our own happiness,
and everything percolates with joy!