It was difficult early on to decide how to put words to the feelings of openness and presence. Difficult to sense what felt right and then decide whether that was right (in the sense of fitting). Whereas the difference between Buddhist talk of cessation and emptiness used to confuse me when I also considered theistic ideas and languages, now my take on all of it is different. At one stage, the two seemed complimentary. Now, it is hard to explain when others haven't had a similarly complex exposure to various internal experiences, but it is like the idea and language are complimentary, encouraging, distinct from one another, a game, and open space in front of me--yet to be explored.
The artistry of the Creator
is that he makes music
from heat and blowing sand.
Wind swirls and raises a dust cloud.
The cloud shapes a vortex and a man.
The vortex is this man.
Here is the mystery:
one particle bumps into another;
a wave makes like a wave, and...
Presto!
The heart is beating wildly,
drunk on its own happiness!
Music comes from everywhere!
The feet are just tapping until the whole body moves.
Am I more complex than this?
There must be something I don't see--
body, soundwaves, exuberance--no,
that's everything.
But there is also a nothing.
Could I forget You?
Our circling draws life in,
carves out a space in which to exist--
breathlessly.
Humility is that mysterious space.
God--not here, not absent--is the offbeat
when we don't clap but anticipate clapping.
Before kissing, eye contact.
Anyone can throw paint around;
what's uncovered in each brushstroke?
We want to do our work and receive the praise.
A transaction. A gaudy plastic toy for twenty-five cents.
You are the stillpoint
I spin around.
It's not me you complement,
complementing me so well.
If you were not here to dance with,
where would I be?
Sitting on a store shelf, blown glasswork
waiting for the morning sun and a child passing by,
pressing fingers against the window,
enraptured with a bit of colored glass.
Sometimes we sing this song--
wait, that's not right--
we are always singing.
The sun doesn't wait for the light of a new day;
this spinning brings us joy
and the hope of new joy.
Copyright 2007 Todd Mertz