The Humble Moment

Photo courtesy of: ‘Everything’s A Field’ by 1490208 – Pixabay

Imagine this…
Not at the END of the rainbow, gold is the light of experiencing it… As the starburst is in the taste, not the memory… Experience is not about achieving special states, it’s about expanding focus, it’s not the time beyond you, it’s all of you, not half-packed, it’s the full load…

“The humble moment, when seen as time, space, and knowledge, is a target worth aiming at. It’s the vital center of the universe; if we hit it, we explode everything that prevents fulfillment, attaining everything that fulfills.” Tarthang Tulku Rinpoche,Inside Knowledge‘ p.67

A HUMBLE MOMENT is also invoked in Ken’s poem, a rich tapestry…

I Fell Within…
By Ken McKeon

‘I fell into fields of stars last night’,
This as I sat waiting for a bell to ring,
A bell I held in my own two hands,

And this before the ringing began,
And before the silent waves
Of what would become a sound
Had even left the point,
The exacting point, where all sound begins,
It’s a still point and as silent as the sea,
Though the sea is not silent at all,
And a thought cracked open,
It broke apart, the shell split,
And the meat within was revealed,
To be savory and sweet,

Though it wasn’t much of a thought,
A baseball score,
Impatience with my losing team,
The liking for big pines,
The tightly bunched cones waiting
Out the day in chill shadows,

I’ve never seen one fall,
But they must, and have,
For there are seedlings on the forest floor.

And above all the silent swirls of stars,
Patternings of light, the spray
Of a rising wave, it crests above
The cupped and rolling face it is,
The spray lifting apart from the steep crash,
The deep pouring roar of a falling weight
That spills forever, it quakes the continents,
It shakes the moon from its brief hold
On the surface of a small stilled pond,
It is the sad gift of a single tear falling
From a waking child’s eyes, this as he
Leaves a dream of loss to find the sun,
And later outside, standing alone or with others,
And the evening fades, and the first stars, then many,
Roll into his eyes, the turns of heaven,
The slow spin of our dear earth.

Nothing holds, not really, and all the parting loss
Becomes sheer gain for others as they rise
To fall down the steep face of their life’s course.
And the child, now sleepy, yawns and turns,

More slowly than a deer does
When it hears the thud of a falling cone,
Or the cry of surfers when they see
A large swell lifting high outside,
Though well below the brightest sky, and that below
The darkest realm of the darkest heavens,
And they and those, are held within the shell
A child pours from a paper sack,
And cracks carefully between his teeth,
Then pops the salty meat out into his mouth
And savors in his own small way vast space
And the stars that birth within,
And he waves goodbye to his passing friends,
And turns at last on his own two feet towards home.

About David Filippone

For more than 25 years I’ve been a 'student' of the Time, Space, Knowledge vision (TSK), not a teacher. And I write from an inquiring student's perspective neither proclaiming nor declaring. I figuratively sit in awe at the feet of a master, Tarthang Tulku Rinpoche. For the past 12 years, my personal TSK guide has been Jack Petranker, Director of the Mangalam Research Center for Buddhist Languages, and the Center for Creative Inquiry (CCI), past dean of the "Tibetan Nyingma Institute", and author of "When It Rains Does Space Get Wet?", "Inside Knowledge", and other TSK related books and articles... I've also received TSK instruction from the late, Carolyn Pasternak of the Odiyan Retreat Center... As a volunteer for the past several years, I've been curating the often TSK focused, CCI Facebook page at...
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