Pulsing Shards On the Way Down

All of us have to travel down.



Downward to the Place of True-Seeing.


The place where we pull the film from our eyes

and remove the thick barrier

placed over the Heart-Eye by pain.


Some wily mountain-Buddhist types

speak of how rare a human birth is.


The image:

Suppose this great earth were totally covered by water

and a hand-sized wooden hoop floated on the surface of the ocean.

A blind sea turtle, who travels down and up, down and up,

comes to the surface once every hundred years

and sticks his neck into that ring.

This is how rare and precious a human birth is.


Arriving here in a body was the easy part.

Actual birth-within-a-life,

if it happens at all,

happens much later on.

Spinning Fractal Dream Snapshots On the Way Back Up

I can't help but wonder

if in the moment

when the last drop is poured

we'll be able to say

"We were actually here."

After a Night of Golden Nectar

"In the end, isn't it the case,

all we really want to be able to say

is our life was something of a work of art."


(c) 2018 / Frank LaRue Owen / purelandpoetry.com

sound: Tiruvinamalai / The Landing Zone / Ujjaya