The evidence doesn’t lie, and now the archaeologists have all the proof they need to confirm their hypothesis — the body in the tomb is you. Aeons ago you walked the land, just as you do today, but it was different then, you were different, and yet not really. It was you then, just as it is you now. Imagine this — in some future time it will still be you, and though all the props may change as they do, the irreducible truth will be: the story has always been about you.

Ah, but now the cello adds its deep contemplative sonority to the opus, and you begin to romanticize your immortality — all the engaging melodrama played out against the ever-shifting landscapes of eternity, and you, the intrepid explorer wandering across the stage again and again, searching for yourself in every costume, every plot line. Every face was your own face, but that truth was too unsettling, and so you chose instead to believe in the other, the one your heart was waiting for, the one who was at last to come, but never actually arrived.

The violins take up the theme as the curator in the museum addresses the tourists, all the while pointing to you, the one you imagined yourself to be before you became the one you are. How peaceful you look, wrapped in your faded cotton and fixedly staring into the void, the same void you emerged from to breathe again and walk again on this swirling blue rock in the midst of the dark expanse.

Yes, it is all your mirror, but you are no longer shy, you sweep yourself up in dances both sacred and profane, you leap across the room as if gravity is just an obsolete idea, and as you exit stage left the gathered onlookers enthusiastically applaud as one. They have been given a flashing glimpse of themselves, because they are indeed one person, despite appearing in different shapes and sizes, and as we know by now, that person is unmistakably you.

Above the streets you soar like the wind, a furious wind that blows in out of nowhere and rattles everyone’s cages, those little boxes we all inhabit to avoid the shattering recognition. Nevertheless, all of that is behind you now. You are rising higher. As your old images and self-ideas are melting away, the exhilaration can no longer be contained. You meet yourself in the mirror of sky, just as the clouds have magically parted and the light comes shining through. Maybe you just weren’t ready before, but now you only want what’s true. The one you were always waiting for is finally none other than you.


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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