I wish I could describe what it feels like.
Nothing like before, when the Mind dictated terms.
And yet, something like before, because the Mind still attempts dictatorship.
Lately, it all arises as One, sometimes.
You can obviously see that you’re
not a person.
You’re a this-here-now.
You’re what’s arising.
You’re the wind/what’s for dinner/fingers typing.
You watch a person tell the story of a snake,
pretending it’s her!
You watch a person do this, that, this, that again,
and yet you’re none of that.
You’re a song which encompasses it.
You’re an eagle, peering down as you circle the bay.
You’re the moon.
You’re the sun.
You’re the larger view which the smaller viewer delights.
You’re beside yourself.
You watch every thought and think,
“not true, not true, obviously not true.”
You are not yourself and you are amazed
when people package you into a self.
Some day you will never package yourself again.
You will not encompass anything
I wish I could describe what it feels like,
this friatta and garden salad,
this sweeping and leaving,
the feel of everything arriving and
departing before you can express
a single word.