! ! A Blank Page For The Self Poem by Michael Shepherd

‘About the Self, dear seeker,
nothing can be said..’

say the bright-eyed sages with
a chuckle and a wink;
a chuckle and a wink..

granting, later, that if you
can spare the timeless time,
you could start listing (for your self-same self)
that which Self is not..

well I’m not satisfied with that..

I’m going to start a list
for you yourself to add to,
of those times when… so, so nearly…
you almost, almost, saw yourself -
(when of course, not looking for yourself…)

as you passed that mirror in the cloakroom,
the shopwindow that’s been newly washed;
looked into the rockpool,
in your childhood’s waking dream..

when you hear – not the first note,
but the second, of some Mozart piece:
and something tells you that the mind
that knew what chord must follow from the first
has heard, has known, its self;

the moment that the playful wind
makes plastic bag into a jellyfish;

just as you see a kite tail-twisting over the rooftops;
before you wonder whether there’s a string;

just as a taste you never met before
meets several places in your mouth at once;

the moment that the scent of summer field
is sweeter to the nose than any flower;

these, like messages to say,
you’ll never catch me; but you’ll know

that I’m around..

And now I’ll leave the remainder of this page
for you to add to; or to rest blank,
as the remainder that is perfect evermore;

or for you to gaze some moments at…
contented; asking nothing
when there’s nothing left to ask;

knowing that you know your present self..
and need to know no more right now;

yet know that there, beyond,
is where all stillness smiles.