The simplest awareness is like this:
an ocean.
And then:
Waves.
Rhythm, or Wind.
Light, translucence, and
the empty sky.
You and I, arising.
This is all that has ever been.
Hidden from view,
a moon is cracked open–
its yolk plopped into the ferment.
Illusion is
endorsement
of the sensation
that something Happened,
and it stuck,
and now we need to find out what It was.
It is the locally
embodied
transient
intoxicating
ramshackle
belief
that a real ocean
is based on reasons.
Might I suggest
you give up thinking
you might just be
the kind of person who knows one?
Only ghosts traffic in supposition
and conjectures.
The simplest awareness is like this:
a cup of tea.
And then:
we breathe one another in and out
like every breed of sky,
mutually dissolved–
each the other’s psychedelic–
and it is so blankety-blank blankin’ Good
we’ll be doing this forever
thank you very much
with your reasons.
Embracing Forever 
This poem is really thought provoking and mysterious! I think I will have to keep reading it many times 🙂
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Thank you, Line! I really appreciate it. This is how I feel about your first painting… It is quite mysterious… As in… how did she do that? I’m quite good with finger paints and construction paper, but a number of life lessons have suggested it is best for me to restrict my creative forays to wordsmithing. 🙂
Michael
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Thank you very much, Michael. Such a nice comfort poem for reading on this white, blizzardy day. 😉 Meredith
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Thank you for reading, Meredith. Glad it hit the spot. I say, however, as a fellow inhabitant of a snowy clime, I am considering shifting to experimental poems aimed at stopping blizzards in their tracks and rerouting them to places like Narnia or Oz.
Michael
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I’m on board with that.
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What a psychedelic, ghost forsaking, breath works, slurping up, totally unreasonable, blankety blanking tea party here today!
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Indeed! The contrast between the ecstatic steeping of the space here with fellow friends of unreasonableness, and the thrice warmed brew being cooked down to some sort of psychedelic mole sauce in the glass carafes at the office refreshment console is incredible. I really should probably switch to tea.
Michael
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Wow, Marga… how do you find such great words to just drip on the page? Michael, erase my comment. I have to start over. ¿… how does she do that…?
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…and see, this just goes to show that one part can read your poem while another part replies… and has to be re-routed by comment threads…
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Each and every whole part is welcomed here in this impromptu mashup of Self-discovery. BTW, Hafiz has been encouraging me to run a two for one special for days now, in celebration of the One identity who peers out from behind every face.
Michael
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🙂
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🙂 Oh, so fun, Meredith. I was piggy backing on all of Michael’s words and ideas – I love the flow to your words and images – I am feeling such a tightening of a kindred flowing with you all – like a tribe that all jive, lately! What a blessing. Speaking of that – I haven’t been to your corner lately. (I wish I could bundle all you northern kindred up and whisk you away for a warm spell of spring – soon, eh!?!) xo! marga
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What she said.
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🙂 Oh, I’m so glad you found my corner, and I that I figured out the piggyback game. Sometimes, you and Michael share such like veins of thought and expression I can’t tell who says what… then I go back and read the post because I’ve gotten too involved in the comment thread. (What a coup, wouldn’t you say? Good comment threads are hard to find!)
I treasure the flow and exchanges that continue to bloom, too. I’ve been trying to find this comment for a week to let you know.
Good morning, Michael! This is not kooky comment day, by the way. This is the short window of sanity when I can actually finish rational, albeit silly, thought.
Love to you,
Meredith
WheW
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Many thanks, Hafiz.
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