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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=461082" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Mind's Strange Beauty, with Its Smile</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">It’s said, that when our mind<br>awakes, out of that sweetest place<br>in which it sleeps, rests, is refreshed; <br>in the morning; or in those<br>rare moments when we let it take its rest; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">this wondrous instrument, invisible, <br>yet holding all we think is ours…<br>in the twinkling before it spreads our world<br>before us, like some awed geographer<br>unrolling with two hands a map from polished rods, <br>inviting exploration, conquest, or desire…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">in that great moment, as it emerges from that place<br>which is to us no place… that holy place, <br>of universal mind before it’s individual –<br>that bran tub where we thrust our eager arm –<br>splits its precious unity, which some mighty force<br>beyond place and time itself, has decreed that mind<br>may find itself, or lose itself, in multiplicity –</div><div style="margin:10px 0">splits this onely mind into polarity: <br>scans like some godly radar, <br>its whole vast world surveyed; <br>surveyed in truth; indifferent<br>as that sweeping line which arcs incessantly<br>to show, there’s this and this…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">a fraction of a moment, and then we<br>clothe all this playground of the soul<br>(glancing so quickly, setting up<br>imaginary walls, beyond which<br>be dragons and our mortal enemies…) with our illusions, <br>our beloved illusions, the land<br>where we may play, pretend ourselves<br>to be ourselves… our world<br>of friction and duality: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">from small (it thinks) to great (it fears) , <br>from good (it likes) to bad (it scorns..) <br>the pleasing and unpleasing there; <br>the loves and hates; all the illusions<br>that we defend, fight over, argue, build…<br>the friction of the tire on road…<br>all set against each other – in our mind; <br>‘nor good nor bad, but thinking makes it so’…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This is the magic of the mind; with this, <br>ourselves as conmen, tricksters – sometimes<br>healers, teachers, wise men too –<br>with this, in this we play, <br>as poets with a dictionary; <br>know this – and watch this ticking, exquisite watch, <br>its intricate fine mechanism<br>running on until its spring winds down: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">know this, and laugh that heavenly laugh<br>that blows away illusion; that laugh<br>that has the sweetest sound you ever heard, <br>as if you laughed with gods; or, <br>smiling as a goddess smiles.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Michael+Shepherd">Michael Shepherd</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=461082" data-title="The Mind's Strange Beauty, with Its Smile de Michael Shepherd" data-description="It’s said, that when our mind
awakes, out of that sweetest place
in which it sleeps, rests, is refreshed; 
in the morning; or in those
rare moments when we let it take its rest; 

this wondrous instrument, invisible, 
yet holding all we think is..."></div>
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