The ocean vaporizes, steam rising, and
I’m handed the keys to the palace.
Sitting in a low chair, looking
out the window, the creek flows by;
I polish
my crown.
I can’t help but wonder,
‘Has there been some mistake?’
Nothing to do, nowhere to go, nothing
which is not me; which is not That.
I met God on the road today. And then
I discovered that God was
the road, and the ants crawling in the sand,
and nothing. How can these words have
any meaning?
They cannot. They do not. And yet the
photons being projected at your eyes are
That. These particles of light are
more profound than any words
a human could hope to express.
I sit and watch the creek,
the tall cedars stand and watch
too. A tiny speck of dust floats
on the dark cold water, gentle waves
of energy delay its eventual
surrender. The bacteria on the speck,
billions,
live and die, love and compete. The
dust settles as the gentle twilight
caresses the edges, and the bacteria return
to the Mother of all things.
