Self, not-self

cake balls
In storage at New York’s Sweet Revenge

It’s simpler than it looks. Always.

This poem found me, today.

IN EVERY LIFE
By Alicia Ostriker

In every life there’s a moment or two
when the self disappears, the cruel wound
takes over, and then again
at times we are filled with sky
or with birds or
simply with the sugary tea on the table
said the old woman

I know what you mean said the tulip
about epiphanies
for instance a cloudless April sky
the approach of a butterfly
but as to the disappearing self
no
I have not yet experienced that

You are creating distinctions
that do not exist in reality
where “self” and “not-self” are like salt
in ocean, cloud in sky
oxygen in fire
said the philosophical dog
under the table scratching his balls

Read more about this poem and poet on the Poetry Foundation website: http://bit.ly/jsU4zM