There is no such thing as sound,
Only silence that moves.
There is no such thing as a person,
Only ideas of self.
There is no such thing as thought,
Only ripples of awareness.
There is no such thing as love,
Only recognition.
There is no such thing as enlightenment,
Only a release of pretense.
The world is fused with my soul
And my eyes no longer see but accept.
I am a strange man laughing at trees
Because the squirrels tickle and the wind massages.
And your pain is like biting into a bright lemon:
When the juice drips from your lips
I taste only the deliciousness of it all.
