I have always believed that a state of bliss in this mortal life is possible, achievable.  Perhaps not perpetual bliss, but certainly repeated blissful moments. I’m not talking about happiness, enjoyment, pleasure, or even joy. But bliss: a state of utter contentment and peace. I have been challenged in this ideal by those who I most hoped would believe along with me. Admittedly, bliss does not describe my normal state of being, or anyone’s, perhaps. In this poem, however, I declare the possibility of bliss and my determined intention to pursue bliss until I find bliss. I hope that you believe in bliss.


You told me one day what
you believed bliss to be:
a sham, a ruse, a vanity,
a thing we chase
from dawn till dusk,
and dream dark dreams about,
and never find and never will.
But I am loath to think it
so. I will look
from my head to the long horizon.
I will search
every path and non-path.
For bliss exists and is mine to be,
not to capture but to free.
Then, I will beckon and waive
and say “come!” and “be with me!”
In that morning we will
walk every path and non-path,
touch every icy mountain peak,
warm to every ray the sun sends,
drink in raindrops and waterfalls,
and touch sea and sky and moon and skin.
On an evening we shall die
and know the soil and the seed,
and give life to grass and flower
and fruit of the tree.
We will see.

8 thoughts on “Bliss

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