Chuck Surface - The Middle of Nowhere

There is no rudder here, to guide,
No sail to catch the wind,
No stars to guide the way,
No land toward which to dream.

Where am I?
Where have I come from?
Where am I going?
What… is… this?

What can such a one,
Knowing nothing of anything,
Say to those drifting by,
In the way of “pointing”.

How is it that Bliss fills the Heart,
Of one so lost, knowing nothing of anything,
Drifting wide-eyed in Wonder,
An Idiot… not a sage?

And how is it possible that some,
“Catch” this Bliss from merely passing by,
Through wordless Grace alone,
No breath of guidance offered.
For Wisdom, not present,
Cannot be imparted,
Nor a way with certitude pointed,
By such an Idiot, adrift, Unknowing.

Love requires…
Only one's Presence.

My comfort, as they vanish,
Where Endless Sky meets Endless Sea,
Is that I am not alone in this Vastness,
Here… in Endless Wonder.

For the Bliss that inhabits this Heart,
Is born not of knowledge and certitude,
But from the Heart of The Great Mystery.

This Bliss is born of Endless Wonder,
Of rudderless boats,
And those Beautiful Beings…
Adrift.

Lost, and Found,
Here…
In the Middle of Nowhere.
Here…

H o m e.

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