You once gave a talk at a church
to a class of the very brightest and
at the end one did hint, you seemed
a simpleton, the word trickled back
Yet it's really all so simple to seem
so complicated, so you can wonder,
How dare it and blame the seeming
on The Big Moment; yet for It, who
After all, who was there, at the start,
when time, the deceiver, the destroyer
got going and, being such a dear,
divided it all up for parts
The part simple is, time-wise there's
the present, and nothing but; the past's
no longer, the future's not yet
So to be, to be glad, and to feel whole,
just be present; as in wherever you go,
there you be, so be here, now
The part complicated is, you were doing
the laundry just now when this old idea
came to you and you put the present aside
You went to word it and now you notice,
no more present, you're back in thought,
the past, the repository of old memory,
decaying matters
The timeless present seems a thousand
meters away and you're not with it, you
tarry in the cycle of birth, death . . .
So no more the word, you're in language;
even a simpleton can see the way it is
Still, saying the way it is, is the bind
