“Somewhere in the cosmos, perhaps, intelligent life may be watching these lights of ours aware of what they mean… or do our lights wander a lifeless cosmos, unseen beacons announcing that here on our rock, the universe discovered its existence?” – Stephen Hawking
The mental giant in a metal chair
resided in a multi-layered sphere
beyond our grasp, as we who simply stare
into the heavens, wondering if here
is all there is. He brought the world a gift
enfolded in a cryptic paradigm,
unwrapped in subtle stages for a shift
in scientific thought on space and time.
The message of the multiverse is veiled
in gossamer and lace, with calico
and pleated velvet drapes that have assailed
our curiosity, but this I know:
Illusion born of suffering absconds
when consciousness is freed from mortal bonds.
2018 Mary Boren
Image by Mitchell Toy
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“In the universe, there are things that are known, and things that are unknown,
and in between, there are doors.” -William Blake
Frosted patterns on the glass
camouflage a portal frozen
on its hinges. Clustered mass
needn’t hide the path we’ve chosen.
Opening the inner eye,
focus on eternal matter
binding everything. Defy
powers of illusion — shatter
Mary Boren, 2017
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Eating popcorn at the movie,
gasping at the gruesome scenes
satisfies a dormant longing:
life by artificial means.
In the field of entertainment,
chaos brings its own reward.
Heightened senses lust for drama
manifest in gun and sword.
Watchers trapped within the frenzy
clamor in a common voice.
Re-emerging from the darkness
offers up a brighter choice.
When the world jumps out of focus,
squint your eyes and stand behind
someone with a crystal vision.
Let your lens be realigned.
Be the watcher watching watchers.
unaffected by the fray.
Pressing through illusion’s gauntlet,
live on purpose every day.
Mary Boren, 2017
Easy does it when you try
separating fact from fiction.
What appears at first a lie
might have been the source of friction.
Things are seldom what they seem;
faith felt genuine, but was it?
While arousing from a dream,
easy does it.
In my childhood I believed
truth’s as black and white as painted,
unaware that some perceived
shades of grey as well acquainted
mentors of inquiring minds.
Through the game, I learned a smile would
pass for certainty that blinds,
in my childhood.
Far above us, pundits pounce;
preachers prime the Sunday sermon.
Both are ready to denounce
scrutiny from lowly vermin.
Truth lies halfway through the mist
in the hearts of those who love us.
Yours and mine can coexist
far above us.
Mary Boren, 2014
As truth revolves, its facets are revealed
in changing light. My muse awaits, concealed
in shadows, steering clear of Father Zeus
(who set a slew of noisy daughters loose
in poets’ heads).
For only in the stillness, where the threads
of myth and fable intersect, can reds
and yellows, mystic blues, and shades of grey
be woven into words that light the way
as truth revolves.
In poets’ heads, illusion’s snare absolves
the writer of the story — fact dissolves
in smoke and mirror’s slanted tell, not show.
But when Lamplighter comes to me, I know
she speaks no lies.
If then, and only then, do I arise
to paraphrase, with freshly opened eyes,
the broader bearings of the lessons wrought
from living into truth, each tender thought
Mary Boren, 2011
Image by ceoln (CCL)
When passing travelers are led to ask,
the explanation can become a a task
daunting to the neophyte
who strives to get the message right.
Though modern mind rebels
ancient wisdom’s light compels
simpler, gentler ways
to navigate the maze.
not the dream we see,
splits the dark
with freedom’s spark.
Mary Boren, 2013
Based on the teachings of A Course in Miracles
Behind each errant thought there hangs a thread
of continuity, a knowingness
that’s hidden by an unrelenting fear
of meaningless existence. Only in
suspended judgment can the truth emerge.
When ego is subjected to the light,
illusion evanesces. One by one,
each child of God, awakening, recalls
his rightful heritage of endless love,
for separation never has occurred.
Now, following the thread back to its source,
we see the world for what it is, a screen
projecting unreality, a blip.
The little willingness is all it takes
to conquer thought and matter, time and space.
Mary Boren, 2012
Public Domain Photo
When you’ve plowed up a furrow of doubt, dropped the seeds
of distress and despair in my spirit,
I’ll wager you’re proud of the fine crop of weeds
you have sown, daring peace to come near it.
Then you slink in the shadows, applauding your plot
as the proof of your own co-existence:
Illusion made manifest, wholeness forgot
while I struggle with human subsistence.
If my only device was a temporal mind,
then each falsehood might grow unrefuted,
but steeped in eternity, reaching behind
your disguise, it’s a snap to uproot it.
Mary Boren, 2003
When smudges, smears, and streaks create
an outer-inner stir,
refocus on the garden gate;
let circumstances blur.
Decisiveness can train the eyes
to look between and through.
Beyond each imperfection lies
an unobstructed view.
So disregard the corner where
the creeping web is spun,
for only in illusion’s snare
can lies obscure the sun.
And peace awaits the mind that’s free
of misperceived reality.
Mary Boren, 2006
“I am never upset for the reason I think.” – A Course in Miracles
When the hairdresser clips you entirely too close;
when your child shows a penchant for sass;
when the seminar speaker is waxing verbose;
when your hero falls flat on his ass …
and a flood of emotion’s creating a stink
in your mind, STOP! Consider the fact
that you’re never upset for the reason you think.
You can choose how you want to react.
If you scrape off the crust of resentment or rage,
you’ll uncover a cowering imp
that is clutching a plagiarized script. On the stage,
he’s an icon. Exposed, he’s a wimp.
His persona’s all hype — “too ferocious to tame” —
but he only appears to exist
in the absence of love. Simply call him by name,
“little fear,” and he’ll fade into mist.
Mary Boren, 2010