Thursday, August 03, 2017
I wrote "Glimpses" yesterday morning. Then later that day I ran across the second poem printed here below. It seemed like an interesting coincidence that these poems each focus on a common theme.
Some are dying and then coming back
to tell us what life is like in that other world.
The rest of us are dying constantly,
as the past slips away
and the future is merely a myth.
They tell us that only the present moment
is real, it alone exists,
but even as we perceive it
it eludes our grasp,
for already it has joined the procession made of
lost shards of memory.
We try to hold on as best we can,
attempt to construct a cloth of meaning
from these bits and scraps we call our lives,
unlock coherence from fragmented
glimpses of truth, even as lightning
shatters open the landscape around us,
exposing realities we had never guessed.
August 2, 2017
Living is Dying
When effort is needed, effort will appear.
When effortlessness becomes essential, it will assert itself.
You need not push life about.
Just flow with it and give yourself completely
to the task of the present moment,
which is the dying now to the now.
For living is dying.
Without death life cannot be.
~ Nisargadatta Maharaj