Spheres in an Ocean of Love

Like all of us, they live in a 

Bubble called “Me,” which is

One of a handful of bubbles inside a larger bubble

We call “Family,” which is one of many bubbles

Inside the still larger bubble of “Our Tribe,” nested 

In “Nation,” which is nested in “World,” inside

“Galaxies,” inside “Universe,” which could be one

Of many inside “Ultimate Reality.”

The narcissist lives only in “Me,” 

As if that contained all.

The parochial live in “Family;” 

The fundamentalist in “Tribe;”

And the Christian Nationalist in “Nation.”

It is all idolatry.

The Spiritual Person lives in “Ultimate Reality.”

The Spiritual Person lives in the

Heart of Source,

The Secret Place of the Most High,

Under the shadow of the Divine Wings,

Without the loss of any lesser bubble.

The Spiritual Person lives in Freedom.

The bubbles, in defiance of all efforts to

Fortify them and incarcerate their captives,

Are all permeable cell-pods.

Pods within pods like nesting dolls

Self, me, myself, I, within

Clan, tribe, nation, within

Worlds unknown where

Fluorescent notes harmonize 

Into as yet unimagined 

Orchestration, all revolving around

Love.

It is, after all, a strange planet called

Sphaera, a vast and beautiful

Landscape mostly covered with bubbles – 

Round pods like so many soft marbles

Scattered unevenly in a garden –

Each one a translucent universe

Unto itself.

He lived in one of them, where,

For the most part, things were

Comfortable and felt reasonably 

Safe, and yet, he didn’t really 

Like it, in fact, at times, he

Hated the place but didn’t know

Why.

It was semitransparent like all the

Other pods – through blurry dreams

He could see others in their marbles, 

Some of whom looked happy, 

Others sad, some angry or even

Violent, thrashing about shadow boxing 

Nothing visible.

Sad people never left their pods.

How old was he when he discovered the

Door, its hinges disguised to blend with the

Rounded walls of melted glass? With trepidation he

Ventured out into the garden-world where

Others like himself danced and debated and

Learned and fought and 

Made up.

Here, nearly all humankind lives.

It was many years later when he

Realized that the garden filled with

Pod Bubbles was itself a pod – pods within

A pod; marbles inside a large

Marble; and years after that – years

Filled with meditation – that the shocking

Truth emerged:

The soft marble that contained his pod, 

Along with many others, inside a giant

Bubble, collectively was one of innumerable

Bubbles floating in a beautiful darkness, 

Ever vibrating, rotating,

Dancing slowly, waltz-like to 

Ethereal symphonic strains.

A force held it all together in 

Harmonious Orbit – an unnamable 

Force, a strange, mysterious

Foreign force that reminded him of

Something he had 

Forgotten many

Centuries ago.

Spheres within spheres, all

Within the ultimate eternal

Sphere. Most lived their lives 

Unaware of anything outside

Their own tribal garden – 

Oblivious of all the other

Gardens;

Or, if they were aware of the

Others, that awareness elicited

Fear that too often erupted in

Hatred, power, coercion,

Oppression, enslavement,

And jingoistic 

War after war after war.

How old was he when he 

Happened upon the door

Out of the tribal pod and 

Into the vast garden where 

All the clannish marbles

Orbited in fear of 

One another?

He discovered the key to

That door within his own

Heart and gingerly with

Trembling dared to 

Open it decades before he

Had the courage to

Step out

Into the music.