This shines on
whether I’m in bitch mode or radiating benevolence
whether I’m depressed or enjoying equanimity
whether I’m achingly weary or frolicking tirelessly.
This shines on
whether my bookshelves are stacked with scriptures, chick-lit, crime or porn
whether my shoes are microfiber or leather, my coat cotton or mink
whether my fridge is piously vegan or robustly carnivore.
This shines on
whether my philosophical tendencies veer towards the scientific and secular
or the mystical and metaphysical
whether I’m a closet optimist disguised as a cynic
or a knee-jerk nay-sayer, jus sayin
Don’t be fooled. This shines on
– pristine, incorruptible –
regardless.
This shines on
whether you agree with me as you scan these words
or jump to defend your own view
whether you accept me as a flicker of the vast Light we are
or turn your back on our inextricable intimacy.
This shines on
and in, and from, and through, every perception,
every experience of every face and fact of World
known by human and non-human Knowingness
(and I exclude nothing, no thing in creation
from that capacity for Knowingness).
This shines on.
The sages call it Reality, but beware: it’s not a thing, an object
or even a state. To name it is to turn from it, but it could care less.
It shines on regardless.
– miriam louisa
To be continued: The implications…
Image: Bill Viola – Catherine’s Room, Scene 1
What a wonderful mix of diversity this piece captured.
Something stepped inside my soul
and I knew I was more
than a boy with a skull.
But this has always been,
I was simply unaware of
thoughts that breathe
and the abundance of
mushrooms after rain. So
come, walk with me a while,
let us talk of unknown regions,
of dark winters, and
of swords made of
unsheathed lightning.
– from a recent poem I wrote.
Steve – good to hear from you… and thanks for sharing these lines of your poetry. Such powerful imagery!
This work is so beautifully formulated Miriam; and your words cut through the false and manifold qualifiers and agendas deemed necessary for unicity to be apparent, as if it were somehow constructed and conditioned into being. Even dry logic tells us that this is absurd, and that by definition a unicity excludes nothing. The paradox of seeking continues, until the seeking mind dissolves upon chattering to itself ‘how can I be as one with the tree?’; then seeing it’s own beautifully absurd folly, it goes about laughing with the tree.
Hariod. ❤
Thank you dear Hariod, I appreciate your always-wise comments. It seems so strange that we love to speak of wholeness, and oneness, and “unicity”, while continuing to stand somehow outside It, still hungry for the cookie. For a while.
As you point out, the absurdity becomes unavoidable eventually; and then – what a free-fall occurs. I went to sleep chortling, and woke up three days later. 🙂
H ❤
“t could care less” set in motion a delicious movement into this it, becoming it for timeless seconds
looking forward to the continue
Delicious indeed, dear N! The total impartiality of “It” is a mind-bender.
(It’s that all-embracing aspect that causes poets to use the “Love” word when they refer to It…)
I IT you:)