Ridding Perception of Self
Let the eye see, through clear, clean lenses
Not a wilderness of mirrored reflections,
Echoing biases of misconception,
But, with true perception, rid of self.
The sound I hear from out there,
A call of bird, a ring of bell,
Is not a story, memory nor a spell.
It is improvisation in staccato, syncopation.
The taste of a raindrop on the tongue,
Is not, sweet, bitter, old, nor young.
It is what tantalizing tit bits can become,
When the nose is held tight with a thumb.
When we touch with our eyes closed,
With ears muffed, befuddled,
With nose congested, blocked,
We feel what's real and selfless.
'The deaf, blind, dumb kid,
Sure plays a mean pinball'.
When the self is silenced, subdued,
Windows are opened, mirrors are shrouded.
Copyright ©
John Anderson
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