A spot of fiction
I glimpsed the truth of it once –
the apparent world a reflection
on the surface of a lake, devoid
of substance and independence,
floating thinly above the dark drowning
and the deep stillness that supports all the seeming.
A trick of light, the self itself,
moving as the sun moves,
no more when the sun goes under,
a spot of fiction from which to center
the illusory play of light, color and movement
as the sun journeys the inexplicable sky.
I glimpsed the truth of it once (by Your hand) –
myself a fiction, the world a shimmering ostensibility,
while hidden and inaccessible, the Reality beneath.
Awaking each morning, I pay heed now
to my dream excursion, observing
Your timely reminders to turn away,
turn away at every opportunity
from the apparent, the artificial,
the fictitious surface to leave myself
possible and open for That which is beneath.
O child of God, hold out for the Reality
solely because it is Real.