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.
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.
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