Struck Dumb in the Supermarket Check-out Line


Luminous bodies, drifting this way and that in a flash of eye contact — Om Shiva — shoppers wheeling baskets of distraction or purpose, hope or fear, timelessly, through aisles not located in any place that can finally be named, but only imagined, for conception’s sake, for the sake of all sentient beings, for the imminent expression of that which strikes the cosmos dumb in that instant of Grace, in the space between thoughts, that space and what whirls through it, the space between desire and its satisfaction, the endless aisles, and at the check-out, the petulant child in the cart inquires,

“Mommy, why can’t we have marshmallows for dinner?”

and Mommy says, “Because we can’t….”

I feel broken into a new word, a silent one I cannot say, but it is with such gratitude I shift from one foot to the other and smile towards the back of the head I stand behind, my own head, and the heads of all shoppers waiting in the infinite line from nowhere to everywhere, some scanning the tabloids, modifying their perception and memory of imaginary people, perhaps spending the last few moments before their death, composing themselves by not being conscious of what breathes so close to them now, not death, but then again, an inaudible sound, the sudden dissolution of the entire universe, now, about to be accomplished in the simple blink of an eye, and then its miraculous re-birth, in a heartbeat, as this light, as ordinary blissfulness, as the gum-chewing young clerk, replete with lip rings, mechanically inquires,

“Did you find everything you were looking for?”

And in that pregnant pause before I can summon a reply, I too am born again, and whatever is going to answer back is not anything that has ever lived before, breathed before, nor will it ever be the same again, not on this day or any other, not in Killarney and not with the folks at home, not with or without marshmallows, with or without blarney, free or bonded, initiated or not, awake or asleep, not ever, no never, no more – it’s already gone, it never was, and so I look the clerk in the eye, smile, and answer “Yes!”



About Bob OHearn

My name is Bob O'Hearn, and I live with my Beloved Mate, Mazie, in the foothills of the Northern California Sierra Nevada Mountains. I have a number of blog sites you may enjoy: Photo Gallery: Essays on the Conscious Process: Compiled Poetry and Prosetry: Verses and ramblings on life as it is: Verses and Variations on the Investigation of Mind Nature: Verses on the Play of Consciousness: Poetic Fiction, Fable, Fantabulation: Poems of the Mountain Hermit: Love Poems from The Book of Yes: Autobiographical Fragments, Memories, Stories, and Tall Tales: Ancient and modern spiritual texts, creatively refreshed: Writings from selected Western Mystics, Classic and Modern: Wisdom of a Spirit Guide: Thank You!
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