In the Beginning

Within the vastness of pristine presence, there is
nothing which either comes, goes, or remains the same.

Ten thousand rivers may run on and yet nothing moves,
not the dream-like flow of time, not some earnest traveler
on a path, nor bright fish splashing in a tale of tumbling water.

In the garden of the real, no flower blooms and fades,
no leaf grows green, then withers to a rusty brown
and drops away to mark a change of seasons.

Regardless of any prodigious effort, no spiritual progress
is attained, no paths leading to auspicious destinations
will ever be trod, nor is there any one to tread them.

And yet, we appear somewhere, don’t know where —
there is a wanting, a wellspring of desires erupting,
insistent, seeking to taste itself in the form of us,
eyes ears nose mouth fingers skin, it is so eager
to feel, to feel itself completely, living itself as
this breath, each breath, inhaling, exhaling,
no name, no person, no identity, pure
being, being whatever it is, moment
to moment to moment.

Whatever it is has begun again.

The limitless collapses into the limited,
next it distinguishes itself from others, fear
is born, grasping alternates with aversion, plus
with minus, concepts are formed, brought to life,
there are rules to live by, thought becomes a locality,
an actual place in the midst of space, a space to occupy,
to control and defend, there is me and mine, foe and friend.

We go to school, go to work, go to the store, to church, to war.
We search for some special someone who will alleviate
the chronic stress we feel at being alone in the midst
of this mess, the mess we made when we made
all of this and now can’t seem to get out of it.

Maybe we should read a book, or meditate,
or walk in the park, get a good dog to take along,
think positive thoughts about making the sorry world
a much nicer place, a safer place to live and breed, raise
happy children, free of fear, then die a good death
with all of our loved ones gathered near.

Or maybe we’d just like something sweet.
We have a craving for some sweet treat, so we go
to the fridge, and pasted under a magnet on the door,
there’s a note which we left for ourselves to read:

“Within the vastness of pristine presence, there is
nothing which either comes, goes, or remains the same.

Ten thousand rivers may run on and yet nothing moves,
not the dream-like flow of time, not some earnest traveler
on a path, nor bright fish splashing in a tale of tumbling water.

In the garden of the real, no flower blooms and fades,
no leaf grows green, then withers to a rusty brown
and drops away to mark a change of seasons.

Regardless of any prodigious effort, no spiritual progress
is attained, no paths leading to auspicious destinations
will ever be trod, nor is there any one to tread them.”

Advertisements

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 several other sites you may enjoy: Photo Gallery: http://www.pbase.com/1heart Essays on the Conscious Process: http://theconsciousprocess.wordpress.com/ Poetry and Prosetry: https://feelingtoinfinity.wordpress.com/ Writings from selected Western Mystics, Classic and Modern: https://westernmystics.wordpress.com/ https://freetransliterations.wordpress.com/ Wisdom of a Spirit Guide: https://spiritguidesparrow.wordpress.com/ Thank You!
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s