Seventy-one
In this dream (per Meher), today is my birthday.
It doesn’t feel like I’ve dreamed myself
for seventy-one years.
It’s more like
I’ve dreamed, upon waking this morning,
that I am seventy-one; dreamed my identity
and tacitly all that’s gone before.
No abiding self, said the Buddha, and at times
the idea has struck me that I’m never older
than a mere millisecond.
And never will be.
Anyway, I threw a party with cake and candles
and in the midst of the celebration,
I pretended to be an old man.
O child of God, ignorant yourself of absolutely everything,
why not embrace a faith in the Knower of all?
No comments:
Post a Comment