In Search of a Proper Attitude

The summer sky, awash with ghostly clouds Seems open to imaginings tonight The likes of which those of the common clay Deem it folly to conceive. Clothed in possibilities This world we move through mutes my mind With dull amazement when presented with its simple glory. Of this, No-Mind names the attitude That grants the gift to see with eyes From which the scales have briefly fallen. No frame of reference is adoptable No meaning save what can be felt At rest behind the wispy veils. A Truth exists which can be understood, But never grasped and held. Real simplicity seems to lie beyond the ways Of ever-clever Man. Nature and Her Universe have it of themselves, While we can only feel its breath in passing, Its reflection filling the world, unseen. I can feel the edges of the Something That brings me peace at times When I run out of cluttered thoughts, But in the end it eludes me still, Denying me a fullness which might sate ever after. To catch it and to hold it is as vain as chasing sunlight Scattering over still, deep pools. With what sort of attitude can one approach These things so pure they surpass Our hearts' ability to encompass them, Our minds' ability to force the secret into view? Like squeezing dust into diamonds. And still the universe and all within it Shines on just as clearly all the while, And one fundamental Fact remains: Nothing changes, except that everything changes.