Author Archives: Bob OHearn

Last night I went to an open window. Everyone was sleeping, but one cricket was chirping insistently, as if on a mission to unite the whole night in one single sound, a sound so strong and clear that nothing else … Continue reading →

In the greater scheme of things, perhaps God is a mid-level manager, carrying out orders from the Higher-ups. Who’s to say? A great Voice booms out from the void: “God, make a solar system over here in this empty space.” … Continue reading →

The wind doesn’t say “Here I come!” as it rustles through the forest, bending branches and lifting leaves, nor do the trees bother to debate, “Is it fate, or free will?” The little house finch with the grey body and … Continue reading →

  There is a restlessness we can’t tame, it rules us despite our practiced pieties.   It’s beyond desire, not as easy to frame and name, but as it is, no matter what we have, we always want something more. … Continue reading →

A warm and lazy August afternoon, and I am sitting in the shade on a wooden bench right outside the local SaveMart. It occurs to me that, although everything is mysteriously connected, not everything is a poem. No matter — … Continue reading →

At the still point of union this mysterious cross blossoms, billowing ecstatically, manifesting the impossible resolution of the heart’s endless yearning, as horizontal and vertical intersect, and Shakti dances on Shiva’s chest. You stand before me in your revelation body … Continue reading →

Suppose this world is like an enormous motion picture set. Let’s call it “Rear Window”. Just so, today you are Jimmy Stewart. It’s a good day. All is well! Look, you have a large pair of binoculars. Splendid! God is … Continue reading →

When the mind first encounters the concept of awakening, it becomes intrigued. Imagine — Buddhahood in this very life! That, despite the fact that it has no direct understanding of “Buddha”, or even “life” for that matter, except for the … Continue reading →

We tend to compulsively rehash our history, feeding ourselves on those now-stale offerings, expecting the known, and receiving only that. Imagining that our personal story represents identity, we habitually re-confirm our belief in the character we created, the one of … Continue reading →

There are rooms in the mansion of memory where all of the innocent ghosts linger. They are waiting patiently there for me — the unforgiven. With each remembrance, I open another door. Here they stand, not as they really are, … Continue reading →