As I stare out the window for another bright hour
And contemplate the connection of the trees,
I feel the root of the world,
Silent and without motion,
Underneath us all.
And it seems that pure, alive consciousness is the only real thing.
And that bodies, and the world, are intermittent phenomena.
And that I could neither be male nor female
As much as I could be born or die.
And maybe the reason everyone seems to fall in love with me,
Is that I am already in love with them,
And with everything,
Because there is nothing that is not perfectly myself
And love is not just the kelson of creation
But also the simplest stuff of self.
I think my essential nature is wide openness forever
And that the taste of my soul is the taste of my own mouth
And underneath every idea and shape
We stand together, alone as One, in awe of our selves,
Our manifestations, our beauty.
And I think I’m ready to be home.
The feast was good and bountiful.
I’m not tired, but sated,
And my beloved – the eternal Self – stands with ever open embrace
For me to simply relax, and
Fall back into its infinity,
Which is nowhere
And so impossible to miss.
I wish I could bring you here.
Thank goodness you have never left.
I am so in love with this, with you,
That I refuse to ever leave again.
So I stare out the window of these eyes
And allow everything,
Everything
To be exactly as it is –
Without ever needing to add or subtract
Even a breath.
