The knowing of Knowing
is the sweetest somatic intimacy, the ultimate G[od]-spot.
It’s no wonder poets pen passionate love-notes
to their beloved Beloved.
It’s more evident than any revelation,
more obvious than anything observed.
Yet this seamless saturation is neither an experience
nor anything that could be called an attainment.
It’s prior to consciousness,
to memory, to perception, to imagination.
(I say “prior to” but I don’t mean a-p-a-r-t from.
Perhaps precursory would be a better word.)
How mysterious that it’s completely overlooked, ignored,
while at the same time
hungered for/longed for/searched for/worked for/studied for/meditated for/practiced for/
is the sweetest somatic intimacy, the ultimate G[od]-spot.
It’s no wonder poets pen passionate love-notes
to their beloved Beloved.
It’s more evident than any revelation,
more obvious than anything observed.
Yet this seamless saturation is neither an experience
nor anything that could be called an attainment.
It’s prior to consciousness,
to memory, to perception, to imagination.
(I say “prior to” but I don’t mean a-p-a-r-t from.
Perhaps precursory would be a better word.)
How mysterious that it’s completely overlooked, ignored,
while at the same time
hungered for/longed for/searched for/worked for/studied for/meditated for/practiced for/
prayed for/paid for, in time, devotion and sacrifice . . .
What a joke!
No GPS can locate it.
Yet it’s inescapable.
I don’t need a guru, method, scripture, sledgehammer
to wake up to the fact that whatever I am
is unarguably and precisely whatever I perceive, experience, feel.
I only have to look from a silent mind.
To acknowledge this Knowing –
to abide as it, to act as it –
restores me to the all-inclusive immensity
I knew all along.
All along.
Since breath #1 was gasped on a summer’s morning in 1944
and these innocent eyes first opened
onto the mindscape
before
words like suffering and salvation were sown there
sprouting addictive fantasies
about enlightenment, transcendence, escape
before
I was thought-washed to believe that
the embodiment of this Knowing
would erase every discomfort and dysfunction from my experience
before
the dark net of distinctions descended
before
I learned to be clever.
What a joke!
No GPS can locate it.
Yet it’s inescapable.
I don’t need a guru, method, scripture, sledgehammer
to wake up to the fact that whatever I am
is unarguably and precisely whatever I perceive, experience, feel.
I only have to look from a silent mind.
To acknowledge this Knowing –
to abide as it, to act as it –
restores me to the all-inclusive immensity
I knew all along.
All along.
Since breath #1 was gasped on a summer’s morning in 1944
and these innocent eyes first opened
onto the mindscape
before
words like suffering and salvation were sown there
sprouting addictive fantasies
about enlightenment, transcendence, escape
before
I was thought-washed to believe that
the embodiment of this Knowing
would erase every discomfort and dysfunction from my experience
before
the dark net of distinctions descended
before
I learned to be clever.
No comments:
Post a Comment