Asheville Sangha

Asheville Spirituality, Satsang, Meditation

Words by Howard McQueen; Inspiration by Fred Lansford


I am slip-sliding, ever-shifting perspective and awareness,

 collapsing and expanding

 entirely outside of my control.


I am sometimes a tiny sliver,

 weak, frail, sometimes feeling desperately incomplete

 and sometimes connected to such a wholeness

 and profundity as to see

 mother earth as a pearl in the great Ocean.


I seek sometimes the reunion with the infinite totality,

 especially when the sensations of suffering are near.

A somethingness of me opens to an expanded all-togetherness

 opening time so the many slivers of me

 sense the Grand Harmony.


And, that feeling subsides

 and I soooo relish it’s return - to be again set free to roam,

 outside of the confines of any specific, limiting form.


Views: 45

Comment by Howard McQueen on February 28, 2012 at 8:23am

This poem stirred up resonance within my men's group.  Here are some of their comments:

I really connect with the words and ideas of this poem.
For me, it is a matter of scale.  I feel the angst and frustration of the restrictions of the breadth of my perception and
experience defined by my human scale.  Yet, I also feel exhilaration when I recognize the awesome potential for 
experience outside my present perception.
So, I bounce between frustration and exhilaration - "... weak and frail, feeling desperately incomplete" and glimpsing 
the ocean as it embraces the pearl.
I am grateful for both experiences.  The feeling of incompleteness provides the impetus for looking beyond 
mundane experience while the recognition of the sub-atomic and cosmic scales nurture the journey.
To me, this speaks to the "split" I often experience between being awake in my life and the other times when it feels like I'm sleepwalking through life. Some days I care and some days I don't. It's about remembering and forgetting, being alert to the unlimited choices of the present moment and then going unconscious by simply playing out the roles and expectations to which I have enculturated.
Some call it the game of domestication. We learn to see ourselves by how others see us; BUT no one's view of us is perfect nor are any of peoples views of us the same, so we learn to 'know' ourselves incorrectly and imperfectly. That's the forgetting part, the domestication of our true selves.
Reminds me of a song... not sure of the name, the writer or the singer...
"Remembering and forgetting,
that's the game that we play.
We've tripped so far,
We forget who we really are,
And remember,
that love is the way,
to remember."
Is it time to wake up yet?

Your poetry speaks to me in a way I can become immersed
in, even pleasantly jostled emotionally at times, as it moves me along into new vistas of original expression.


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