Do you want me to tell you the truth,
that everything we think we are,
all the majesty and greatness, the pettiness and sobs,
the words and wordlessness,
the green pastures of our wisdom and the
folly of our misunderstanding,
our sin and our angel wings
are only a hiccup
in the amazing field of awareness?
We are a hiccup.
A blip and a blither.
We are the screen wavering, ready to shut off.
We are the screen before it turns on.
We are the hiccup witnessing itself with utter
fascination, appearing to forget itself,
losing itself in the chest
rising and falling for
maybe eighty short autumns.
When awareness finally stops hiccuping,
will it go chasing another bout?
Did I scare you?
Did your hiccups stop?
Who were you in the moment between hiccups?
Can we feel the answer before the next breath,
before the diaphragm jerks again,
before we try to stop,
before we surrender fully to the next
unscheduled and unplanned–