Somewhere Rumi
still gazes
into the eyes of Shams
 
Their vision arises
from a shore
where nobody is
 
Yet miraculously
Shakyamuni
sits here too

Beneath the World Tree
which, like God
is ever branching

Into a spaciousness
that lies everywhere
and nowhere in particular

Here are treasure ships
that have dropped their cargo,
empty vessels

That remain
unmoving
for they have sunk

Their anchors
to the very bottom
of this world

 

As might we
when fully present
and absorbed in eternity

--free from the cultural clock
the getting ahead,
the falling behind...

Our longing
for what is infinite
yet immanent

Must burn through
the trance states
of psyche and culture

--our celebrity culture--
 
For revelation is shy,
an autonomous beauty
barely whispering
 
And only to those
like herself
who have grown
 
More and more empty
of any need
to be known