Our Dropp Souls Are Of The Ocean Of Truth - Poem by Francis Brabazon
Our dropp souls are of the ocean of Truth, their bubbles are bright snares
Which keep us in the sea of illusion playing 'musical chairs.'
Dear Soul, says one bubble to another, you are all I adore.
Curl me up in your arms and I'll ask of heaven nothing more.
Good luck, brother! But it won't take you to where you're going - because
The fly in that ointment is, every 'It is' becomes an 'it was'.
Distance ever grows longer; it never becomes shorter.
The mirage stretches on and on but it never becomes water.
The distance between any two pebbles equals the circumference of Space.
No matter how great our love, union is conditioned by time and place.
Come dearest Droplet, let us together seek the Beloved's door;
Let us leave this wave which will separate us, and come up on the shore.
I hear his beautiful voice calling deep in my soul:
'The lover is nothing, the Beloved is all in all.'
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