The Other Side

Sometimes we want to see what’s behind the words,
in the same way we’re curious about what’s lurking
back there, on the other side of the mirror.

Although I may be feeling all written out, this will
not be one of those tedious pieces about writing.

Seeing the expressions on the faces of other beings,
I can’t help but feel a subtle stress simmering
behind the masks, the snapshot flashes.

We all seem to know this uneasiness intimately,
yet still find ways to distract ourselves in the midst
of whatever this is — life, living, appearing somewhere.

It must be true: consciousness itself is stressful.

Emptiness is not an answer — I look into the eyes
of the official teachers, and there is a small lie
wriggling behind their peaceful facades.

They do not know, nobody does, but they are
committed, and so they play along with the game,
why not, why admit it and make things worse?

Still, this is not one of those sad cynical pieces —
may all beings be happy, regardless of their dis-ease.

Small stones are scattered everywhere, just look down,
they are not pretending, nor do they secretly complain.

Perhaps they were sturdy houses once filled with life,
since everything is being lived in its own unique way.

It was not long ago, even though the dinosaurs roamed
200 million years in the past, it is just like yesterday
to the stone houses — that is how relaxed they are!

They weren’t always houses, they were parts of light
that somehow grew heavier, became condensed
down to one final idea — to be the stone.

Nor is it the light house we seek, we are that light,
we are already shining it, we pick up a small stone
and without thinking toss it into the external world,
even though there is no objective place for it to land
that is not part of the same consciousness as dinosaurs,
houses, heavy light, or the words we use to describe it.

If we are paying attention, there is really no final idea.
Even the stones are in transition, waiting to discover
what remains on the other side of stress.

There is water there for us to skip the stones,
to watch as ripples spread out in circles,
then everything returns to stillness.

Go there.


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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