Friday, August 10, 2018

Bob O’Hearn - Song of the Beloved


I have wandered deep and far
in the dreamy landscape of myself,
swept out into an ocean of forgetfulness,
drowned to peace in that sea of mystery,
rocked in the bosom of vast emptiness.

Now, here I am with you,
washed ashore on the waves
of your gracious indulgence, singing
these little songs of remembrance.

Perhaps at night one of these tiny tunes
may insinuate itself into some neglected pocket
of your longing, and you will gently awaken
with a single tear streaming from your eye.

Shining softly within that tear is everything
I have come here for, everything I am.

That tear is a kind gift from you to yourself –
the same self we share in this dream of each other,
spun from our womb of deep intimacy.

Shall we welcome this sublimity
and feel all the way to infinity?

Everything is seeking,
yet seeking only for itself.

Beyond these words, persist —
unless we can get to the marrow,
we will leave this table dissatisfied.

While standing on the beach,
can we stop a ship out on the sea?

Having boldly pushed out
from the safe shore of certainty
into the surging current of rippling life,
whichever way we look we are confronted
with the lies of what we thought we knew,
and the confounding truth of what we don’t.

Once we’ve embarked upon the maiden voyage
of our soul’s deepest longing, we may find
that there is something which Love
wants to do with us.

Who is willing to listen to Her soft whisper,
so familiar, like the evening chimes
in some forsaken ruin of a temple,
the temple of our longing?

Can you hear Her now?
Her tears, Her calling?

The constant music streaming, soaring between
and behind our thoughts, caresses these tears
now glistening down our cheek, and yet
it seems all we ever really want
is to just go back to sleep.

Resounding all around us,
the unsettled snores of discontent
rise and fall in a cacophonous chaos
of bleary limbo, echoing the plight
of those still lost in dreaming.

You, who
now open your eyes
in the midst of this dream –
let all of your cares melt away
like the lingering remains of winter
in the glow of spring’s warming sun.

In our natural state,
we can sing like little children
at the beauty of this incomparable sunlight
pouring through our windows, weaving together
the shadows and light that playfully illuminate
our own innocence – a true and simple song
of forgetting who and what we are,
all for the sake of once again
awaking and remembering.

Songs love to be sung.

Can we be the song
that our soul wants to sing –
the song of the heart’s yearning,
and yearning’s surest satisfaction?

I am here to sing it with you,
our longing is not different.

We can remember our original voice.

It is the voice that has never been bound,
never been limited, never been compromised,
and never despaired at the poignant fragility
of all that transpires from birth to death.

It is the lyrical call that has never faltered,
even though the most supernal beauty
is destined to fade and rot.

The closer that things approach
their point of vanishing, the more
transparent and exquisite they become.

Your exquisiteness makes me weep!

There is a gleaming questing in your eyes
that only magnifies your tenderness.

This magnificent tenderness is yet a stranger
to those who prolong the war with themselves –
the dark fiction of division and separation.

We can relinquish such fantasies, because
we have felt Her Lips pressed against the soft,
vulnerable tissues of our heart, and not resisted.

In this same way we’ll come to recognize
that, in the end, all knowing must submit itself
to the open-armed embrace of Mystery,
resting here, at home, at peace.

This is the song of remembrance.
This is the song of our Self.

Tracing back to the origin of anything,
everything meets right here.

We sit before each other now as This,
the traceless root of light itself, needing
nothing more, not one more word,
not one more “I love you”.

Spring, summer, autumn, winter –
in the cave of sky that shapes
a heart around us,
we are still.


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