Sunday, September 20, 2015


There's no intimacy in talking “about” The Beloved,
Moving away from Her into words and concepts,
As if She is not Present.

How rude.

She exists in the Quiet Stillness of our Heart,
When Attention returns from outward wandering,
And falls into Her awaiting arms.

How Inexpressibly Beautiful.

Some have turned Her into a science,
And argue Her existence, lawyerly.
They know nothing of Her.

Arid minds.

She cannot be “proven” through argument,
Or anyone “convinced” of Her reality,
Short of direct Experience.

Direct... Experience.

Only Longing entices the Beloved,
From Her Secret Garden…
In the Cave of your Heart.

How Ineffably… Sublime.

Photo:  Peter Bowers