Through the Opening In the Heart

The image of his

static-full blonde hair

and wind blown

rosy cheeks comes to

me sometimes –

a mist in the valleys

of my brain settles in

to the crenulations

and pulls it all back in

and down

to the ground of

my own being,

into the soil of my

heart when

I see the man

he has become.

The image of his curly

supple, moist black hair

and caramel colored

chubby cheeks comes to

me sometimes –

a growing light

in canyon

of my brain settles in

to the creases

and pulls it all back in

and down

to the ground of

my own being,

into the soil of my

heart when

I see the man

he has become.

Just looking at

them – the

two of them –

some days

makes me see into

the moist, damp

heart-images

stored beyond my

logical and cognitive

memory

and

the features of importance

I carry around with

me in order to survive.

Every vantage point

somehow calls them

up and out of me to meet

the rising spirits tread

down into the soil

by countless other

generations.

How can what I see

connect to what

has been?

How can all

I feel be just

at the other end

of all that was?

A twinkle in

their eye carries

me to the far edge

of the Milky Way

as I am cracked open

with delight.

These mysteries illuminate

the infinitesimal rivulets

of fondness and repose

in the very synapses of

my intuitive co-inherence

and substitution.

I look at them

and know that I do not

need to speak “my life

for theirs’”, it just happens

as every cell of my

me gets given into the

suchness of their them

and I see myself

in their mystery and their

manners.

A child becomes

a man while the universe

moves itself through

itself and over the

thresholds of time

and space – matter builds

itself on ethereal concepts

and marks the passing

of belief on the

simple structure of

the cell.

A wizened old man betrays

his stubborn greed;

a gentle eyed mother

reveals her tender hope

and delight.

The how gets inscribed

on the surface of the

what and we are left

saving impressions and

memories like lotto

cards across the passing of

all our days –

hoping to understand a

new thing by the image

of an old one.

It is the grace of unmeasured

proportion that holds the whole

of every little piece in the

gravity of the collective and

unified sense of together.

The Buddha’s interdependence is

no less an episode in

severe mercy than the greatest

image of dependent love

and nurturing awe of a Christ child

on the Theotokos’ breast.

Somehow,

everything we have

seen, and heard, and

handled becomes

a syllable in the definition of all we

will come to behold,

and enflesh.

And although most

of what we hold to

be self-evident is

clearly only a passing

and furtive glance

of one thing careening by

on a wrinkle of time,

the upward reaching

petals of the magnolia

blossom are still just

as full of meaning and

grandeur as the Pleiades

and Orion.

Oh to be able

to rise above –

and go beyond –

the simple anxious measuring

of our days amid the systems

and designs we have fabricated

to move us all about and

through these truths we

call space and time.

To wake up each day

and feel the freedom of

divine inception within

each and every atom and

cell.  To know that the

quarks and the quasars hold

more resonant strength and

grandeur than the NASDAQ

and the FORTUNE 500 that

not only we have devised

from our need

to be one who has,

but have fallen into believing

that we must climb toward

their zenith over the

self-deflated masses of

those who have lost all bliss.

Find me one tear

that comes from a man

seeing the sunrise;

gather me one breath of

a woman who has sighed

at giving birth.

Either of them

is elixir enough to decay

the madness we have

purported to be the

reality that can only

be produced as a spawning and

fleeting wind from

the gradual and rhythmic collapse

of a field of stellar matter

blows past us and ignites

a spark of unraveling

awe and wonder. 

Give up the notion

that nothing means anything

and climb back atop of

the mountain of divine

ascent.  All life is beyond

the simple utilitarian

maelstrom of my own

desire and need. 

Everything is a dervish

alive with cosmic intention.

There is no one death

that is a simple ending

and a ceasing to exist.

Everything – perhaps outside

of our own grasp, but everything –

is the vacuous Tsim-Tsum

of the HOLY.

Stay close to that

thought.

Live

inside that notion.

Then you will be

a man, then you will be

a woman.

Everything else

is shadow-play. 

 

image from www.universetoday.com