By Ryan Brennan


It can happen anywhere, at any moment

--when walking from one room to another, 

after having sat for a long while,

and you feel, as if for the first time,

every subtle movement of your body’s flawless orchestra;

when sitting on a park bench,

on the first day of spring,

you realize that the mystic pulse is both inside of and all around you

and the immensity of it is almost too much to bear;

when in a classroom or on the bus,

surrounded by other blinking beings,

the veneer of separation suddenly dissolves

and every soul breathes beautifully in sync;

when alone at the lake’s edge,

as the dawn awakens to itself,

and each strand of swaying grass, skittering bug and beast,

is an essential expression of the same, stunning source;

when a melody, an image or a single, written line

shatters all of the pretense and posturing

of the carefully constructed day

and surges straight to your innermost core;

when one glance into another’s eyes

or tender embrace of their body

reminds you that the deepest form of union

is not only possible, but the entire point;

when it enters, spreads and fills you up,

so that you only overflow

in love and creativity 

--it is not the peculiar exception to reality,

but the true and vibrant ground of it,

which we may perceive only in such ecstatic glimpses;

it can happen anywhere, at any moment,

and our one and greatest task

is to heed its call

--to listen to it, savior it and give it back,

in gratitude.  

Ryan made the mistake of studying philosophy. He has many questions and few answers. He once asked a seagull what it was passionate about. It squawked, snatched his lahmacun and flew away.