The perception of my conditioned mind
is a constricted narrow thing,
a set of sensory inputs fitting within
a carefully crafted interpretation.
The Milky Way, for instance,
an all-to-seldom seen celestial display,
to my unaided eye is indeed a milky thing,
a blur across the sky.
On a clear night, however,
with only a set of binoculars to aid my vision,
the splash of milk becomes an exuberant array.
Pin points of light by the thousands fill my field of view,
and if I let my mind unguard its gates a moment,
Wonder fills the space within me.
By the time I write these words about it,
the Wonder is a lingering memory, hardly felt
amidst the daily thoughts that seem right now
as numerous as the stars themselves.
The memory, however, remains
and I know beyond all doubt
that the Wonder of it all is Real,
and these daily thoughts are small and transient illusions.