Our Fleeting Wholeness

Look, look the allusive self  

hides among the ego

long enough to away,

disappearing behind

the hand that gestures THERE.

Taste the air for its traces.

It was here.

Raise your nose and

smell the space you last

felt its presence

abiding and so strong.

Our very own self

is so hard to lure

out of the shadows.

Even once.

We turn our glance and

miss the exit of Encounter

that longed for encounter

to arrive all along.

The most pristine table

set for tea, is not enough

to hold the sumptuous

arrival of the we of me.

Hiding ourselves just as

we recognize we have crossed

the threshold of our showing

up for our living - evasive

to the point of distraction.

The thousand things we buy

or do allegedly for the self

are gobbled up by the ego -

a braggart pretender of the soul.

There is but one thing our

core longs for, one thing we desire

above all else; that our me would

sit long enough to brush up

against our we when it blushes

on the scene for its faint showing.

That our every fiber would sit,

coaxing our soul out from all

its millions of crevices just

beyond our reach.

This one thing is our

true, fleeting wholeness.