Archive
11/28/09
Kensho
Sitting just above the ultimate curve In the slow-flowing stream Serpentining through the English Woodland Garden,
Whose riffles are on the verge of disappearing Into the sheer calm of the Seiwa-en, below, I've paused on a wooden bench,
To bask in the end of November's seventy degrees. I close my eyes, to heighten listening, And lose myself to mesmerizing timelessness.
No transgressor, trespasser, am I, in this refuge, Rather just one more welcome guest, Invited to participate in autumn's transfiguration.
Soothing, whisperous water, Cascading over the rocky breaks, Enchants me into sleep, with entrancing harmonies,
Transports me, beyond dreaming, to deepening repose, Farther from daytime's shores Than I've ventured in more years than own me.
And when I awaken, as I must, I hope I'll yet be able to recognize myself, From among the defoliating trees enfolding my soul.
But if I can't identify my rested spirit, I'll not be lonely, bewildered, sequestered, Since, coming here, today, I never intended to leave.
11/28/09
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