When all is said and done,
In the language of the common,
A space opens up,
A vacuum where no words apply,
And I am compelled to listen to the sounds of silence,
All discourse is suspended,
Intellectual authority dumbfounded,
While something far more explicit trickles in…
Like water seeping through the cracks of the foundations, I have taken for granted and assumed trustworthy.
My survival appears to rest upon the familiar voice demanding my attention even when its efficacy is no longer applicable.
I am amazed at how quickly my attempts to observe without bias is swept into the stories on auto-play,
Compulsive reflexes are eager to embrace the narratives of my chameleon shell.
But, I maintain my penetrative gaze into the arrogance of my ignorance,
As the fear of my ego desperately clings to the illusions of how I see myself,
So tenuous and fleeting.
What is it that holds me fast to this trickster whom I have come to cherish as my beloved?
How is it that looking myself square in the eye has me darting here and there in search of that “familiar” face?
And then, the immovable glare that remains from staring directly at the sun reveals the love-child of fear…
The ultimate outcome of all manifestation is its inevitable death.
Not a death of permanence, but of transition and transmutation,
The liberation of form into pure ephemeral potential,
Rising and falling like a wave,
Lost and found upon the crest of a waning moon and the promise of a new Dawn.
I am shown that even in my emptiness, I am full.