343

I settle on my zafu
poised as the Presence
of a world displayed –
a world whose appearance
is wholly dependent upon
the sensory capacity
here, yet without location
anywhere

I marvel that after turning up
for more than 300 mornings,
pen-in-hand and heart-at-the-ready,
words still spill themselves
out of the silent emptiness
on the other side of thought
as fresh and fecund as on day
one

There is no author here –
my authorship could never sustain such
freshness for even a fortnight.
I’d bore myself to tears and quickly move on.

Wild wideawakeness is simply singing
soulfully
to itself in the mirror.

A small hand
holding an old-fashioned Waterman fountain pen
scribbles the opening libretto:

Everywhere I look
I see
laid out in luscious
lu-mi-no-si-ty
the miracle
of unknowable
Me!

I’m cracking up at the audacity when out of nowhere a gleeful chorus pipes up:

It’s a new dawn
it’s a new day
it’s a new life for Me
and I’m feelin’ good!*

[Never will you meet such an unapologetic narcissist!]

~

*from Feeling Good, by Peter Schick