Primitive religion is not believed, it is danced!

Arthur Darby Nock

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
And only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

Elizabeth Browning

Thursday, April 26, 2018

Where the heart is

“There's a mess inside you:
You clean the outside.”
― Anonymous, The Dhammapada


Who am I?
Do you know?
Do I know?

What is pretty certain
Is that the person I look at in the mirror
And the person you greet
From day to day

Is not me
It is a fabrication
Of who I want to be

It is me
Cleaned up

But not me
For inside are all the things I hide
The dirty wrinkled things
Which I have stuffed into the closets
Of my being

Hoping they will go away
Of their own according

Hoping you will not see

I know I am not alone
Most of us hide
Behind pleasant facades of our own making

We rumble through each day
Our hard but brittle shells
Colliding with other shells
No real damage
But no real contact either

Masks beaming at masks
None of us really in touch
With each other

Or even with ourselves

Insight is missing
Delusion is high

Sometimes it seems
We would do better
Spending a little less time
Polishing the outside
And erecting our facades

And a little more time cleaning out the closets
Of our souls
For it is what’s inside that makes us who we are

Not our titles
Our looks
Our possessions
Our successes

It really all comes down
To where the heart is


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