Finally We Learn Nine 71 Poem by Anne Tardos

Finally we learn that we are dealing with images.
It doesn’t matter what the fantasy is or isn’t.

To stumble upon a reality that’s easier to navigate.
Somewhere between naïve realism and some form of idealism.

The weirdness of being human; brain thinking about brain.
No reason why Nirvana should be hidden from me.
Lucky just to be alive—a sense of being.

The blowing out of the flame of the self.
The abandoning of craving, anger, despair, and hissy fits.