|by Tsebastian Digges|
A blahness seems to creep in,
a perception blanket of wispy
resistances to here Now Reality.
Sight Sees I am judging what is.
I feel this as suffering, pain.
This very contraction is suffering itself.
This very idea that This Moment is not enough
turns Heaven into hell.
In this Quiet Inquisitive Openness,
Sight works its subtle alchemy,
turning lead into gold.
Somehow choice meets Grace.
Their pact is dissolution of this knot
that wanting tied in me...
The Vibrant Womb of Perfect Rest
dawns and its Pervasive Permeation
plays rhythm and bass to the Melody of this Heart,
as it sings with Joyful anticipation of each Moment
in Its glorious arising...........
(my salty tears taste like honey)