Future Self


Will my inner workings
be more playful then than now,
with less attention to survival paid
Will they finally get to the sparkling whole of day,
be a constant moment of arrival:
of at-once knowing and 
unknowing Tao

I was told by a monk who’d kept silence for years
of how his inner dialog disappeared,
when his chattering selves came to accord
and all that buzzing skull talk
slid to fading end, trailed off like
the tail of a fifties forty-five
spinning to mum as if an engineer
were dialing down gain,
spinning many to one
with an end of fire and rain
and what then, I asked,
what was that like?

nothing to be said,
he said,

to be like

by Jim Culleny


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