"Tat Tvam Asi = Thou Art That" - Jonathan Brown

 
 
 
"Tat Tvam Asi = Thou Art That" - Jonathan Brown
I.

Seeing the god light
squeaking through the grey
clouds after the rain shower

reminds me how
when you die
you lose your body
but keep your soul,
and your soul is older
than all the oak trees,
but only the acorns know
how the elegy goes.

Last night is a past life.
Thou art that.
You used to be
a blade of grass
but then a cow
moseyed in
and grazed on you
and later
in the maze of truth
you turned around
and ate a steak.

You can count how many
seeds make up an apple.
But can you count the apples
in an apple seed?

II.

We beg the infinite
to be consistent
as if time were listening.
We are made of god,
god light, light, water
and time; but time is man

and manmade. Seasons
don’t chase each other
because nature doesn't
get impatient. But we do.

Is it C’est La Vie or Déjà vu
or neither or some
variation of the two
when whatever we focus on expands?

You go places.
Places disappear.
You’ve been the plane
and the tarmac.
You’ve been the bus boy,

the bell hop, and the bar back.
You’ve been the market crash
and the Arby’s bag. You’ve been

apart yet been a part of all that.
You’ve been thirty and twelve
and seventy years old.
You’ve been told and you’ve told

and you’ve been told again.
You’ve dictated and you’ve been awaiting
 
instructions from something greater
than yourself but somehow
you still feel separate
as if there was such no such thing
as everybody else.
 


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