Weaves of Presence
A Poem
Memories are distant entanglements The presence of which Ruin away to dust Some stay, though Happily in our hearts Such memories are never ‘Past’ But always present to us Present But not presented in a ‘present’ Because there is no such thing as ‘past’ Not even disguised as ‘present’ But only what is Present. Dreams and hopes Though wished for Always only occupy us When we chose Letting them float free before us Because there is no such thing as ‘future’ But only what is Present. To think of time as if to say We exist within something flowing away With or without us Is to imagine an inside Without an outside A strange thing to say Because there is none such Neither stream outside Nor one inside But only tangles Weaves of infinite possibilities Tugged along by needles of our attention As if through an ocean of Now Limitless because unbounded by any shore Purely free from any ‘once was’ or ‘may be’ But only what is Present. To see this clearly is to shed our blinders Because only presence is present Why then pin our hopes on a dream Or our pains and fears on a ruin Seen through a fog of conceptual blindness That we allow to be present When we can bask in the brilliant light The clear unmovable still light And the pure presence of our own attention As it weaves a way tho’ only ever Now The only ‘what is’ Present.
