Happy Father's Day, Mr. Gobley

That is, if Mr. Gobley is actually a father. But whether he is or not, this secretive blogger is reliable for free-verse poems that find the infinite in the evanescent: finding a dime on the sidewalk, waiting in line at a store or a railroad crossing, or facing the week on a Monday at his desk. (Where does Mr. Gobley work, I wonder? What colleagues sit by him day after day, unaware that in the next cubicle a philosopher is spending company time communing with the Self in the mundane?) For Mr. Gobbley, and thus for us, every experience is an opportunity to remind ourselves that the experiencer and the experienced are one and the same, both part of a mystery that prompts awe, joy, and devotion.

Mr. Gobley has just put together a book of his best posts, and I can't wait for my copy to arrive. If you've read him already, you'll want to have these writings gathered in permanent form. If you haven't, go to his site and sample his work. You'll end up wanting to order a copy. Go to this post of his for more information.