The mystique of exoticism,
The lure of the strange,
Drives the heart wild,
With passions for the unknown.
Many have gone for long,
Chasing after emptiness,
Disguised as substance,
Only to vanish into mirage...
What it became up close,
Was a heap of prosaic rubble,
Whose dust vanished,
In the wakeful winds.
As each forey commenced,
Freshness n’ renewal rushed in,
As a gushing stream...
Suddenly, “A coming to life!”
Once the clouds n’ shrouds,
Gave way to bright clarity,
The dawning light shown,
A goal which wasn't;
Leaving the seeker,
Tired n’ life ebbing...
However, in the exhale,
Born in defeat n’ surrender,
Comes a fresh spirit,
A hopeful renewal of life.
There's new awareness,
In the gift of the nearby,
Where the formerly prosaic,
Becomes ripe with depth.
The “simple n’ easy”,
Speak with unanticipated soul.
The seeker seems sought,
As surroundings come alive,
Speaking aloud in “miracles”,
The language of simply being.
÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷O÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷
Rebbe Nachman of Breslov teaches that the tempter comes around with a raised fist claiming to have a prize in his hand. Many chase after this "mysterious prize". Once his followers are lured, hooked and fooled, he opens his hand. Gasp! It's empty!
ReplyDeleteBest to appreciate seemingly ordinary gifts that one has been Divinely given. As ordinary as they seem, if properly appreciated they can become very full of life.