the dream of our self-made illusion
spreads out high and wide
over the mystic cover of night-thought,
to the farthest corners of the sublimated mind.
and yet upon touching the unmistakeable,
the sheath of maya is seen
as the mighty charade of a cosmic love-dance…
there is nothing but Reality with which Reality could pretend to veil itself;
– and so –
there is nothing but Reality with which Reality could attempt to find itself.
seek not your Self with your Self;
simply know your Self as all that is True.
and in the clear seeing
that you are what you seek,
the cataclysm of the spiritual search
begins to resolve itself
back to peaceful ash,
now ready to flit alongside the motion of the wind,
it’s only flightpath, the joy of the soul.
for even the deepest contraction has not the power to shift one iota in the ever-present sands of your depth. consciousness is your base, your core, your reality, your home.
underneath all concepts lies an undisturbed truth:
we share the very same Being.