Being

There is within those moments of just being,
no measure made of monitoring thought,
but just awareness of the cosmic sensing;
slow breath, cold hands, sadness overwrought.

No way of knowing what has been the trigger,
no understanding of the depths of grief,
just falling into Self and all it offers;
dry lips, deep sighs and utter disbelief.

In honouring the moments without doing,
in simply letting what is, just to be,
with cloak acceptance thrown that it may bring,
a flimsy cover to the muddy seas.

The rise and fall of breath is what is holding,
the focus of the mind on narrow course,
as life brings us within, to sure unfolding,
the heiros gamos is the true reward.

For even in the depths of deep unknowing,
the Soul does hold the Self in gentle hands,
weaves material with spirit glowing;
leads us to the earth on which we stand.

It is enough to feel; relinquish thinking,
to know ourselves as universe of cells,
sense the cup of life from which we’re drinking;
eternity made manifest; truth beheld. 

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About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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