You just don't get it

This day
blushing with sunlight
and pregnant with air
keeps itself afloat
as it chooses to
by our breath

Feeding itself to me
tenderly
through my senses
with Divinity's chosen notes
impeccably spaced
on a Spanish guitar
and the comforting , raw tanginess
of a freshly composed chocolate orange shake
along with the cold tiles faithfully beneath my feet
and the quivering bamboo fronds
doing their delicate dance of
shudders and shakes


If heaven were to appear to me,
would it be much different?
Would I recognize it,
trapped as I mostly am,
in my cleverly disguised fears
and my battle-ready defenses?

Holy sunlight washes over me
Blessings of the cosmos
Trees stretch upwards, their branches
flush with leaves
unashamedly drinking up this free nectar
and free from any doubt
that this is the perfect enactment
of their sacred purpose.
What is mine?

What is mine? I have asked
three hundred and twenty-five times
to the best of my knowledge.
I ask as if someone or something
other than myself
has the answer, mystically shrouded,
only to be revealed at some
stupendously significant moment
Hopefully, in a blinding epiphany
rather like Saul's

Wouldn't that be a story to tell!

Holy fool!
Why should any moment be
more significant than any other,
when the sunlight bathes each equally?
Why should this meaning be
worth more than another,
when all arise out of the same
cosmic mind, and you are but
one of its infinite points of reference?

Why are you so addicted
to 'specialness',
desperate to define yourself
by it?
When all of life, every miserable
sodding, orgasmic, uplifting, enchanting
scrap of it
is 'special'?
Why, in other words, do you
long  for what
already is?

There can be only one reason.

You just don't get it.

TBT