It begins

With a strong focussing mind,

A me behind the eyes

Looking out,

The contracted energy

Of a self

In the grip

Of wanting to be.

–

And maybe there is a way in that,

A way through the puzzle

That cannot be solved,

Frustration

Burning so bad,

The mind freed

Through absolute futility.

A way, perhaps!?!

–

But when I turn my gaze

And relax,

When I unfocus my eye

And breathe out,

When I do nothing

But be

It’s as if I’m reclining

In the feather bed of myself

And bathing

In a bath-time of being,

Absorbing sweet ubiquitous sunshine,

Something and nothing at all.

–

And where is mind?

For his blather has faltered,

His voice has lulled to an easy quiet.

He now slumbers,

Rested in the greater bed

Of borderless life

Upon which the warmth of love

Flows simultaneous

To everything,

And where there is no one

But the one

Being its ever present lullaby.