That Which I See

That which I see
is mostly what I think,
When the thinking stops,
I go blind.
The inner-scape of my outer-view
Holds no form,
The pure flow of an energy formless remains.
That which I see is like a river,
Every attempt to grasp it slips through,
No matter the allure, it is replaced,
And I, the one perceiving, disappears
Into the witness.
That which is seeing,
Becomes senseless,
And all with which I identify,
Becomes a wind upon the face of the deep,
upon my every attempt
to be seen in a particular way,
The memory fades
And only silence remains,
The silence where no anticipation unravels.
That which I see
through the corridors of my mind,
Sing the multiple layers of time,
Finite and infinite,
The great weaving song of mystic space,
So what is of value to what I hold on to?
Except for the loosening grip
of one story birthing another,
until nothing is left of that which I see,
and only the empty vessel of my surrender remains.
That which I see goes beyond seeing,
as I fall into the arms of trust,
and universal grace,
where love welcomes me home.
-Tru Starhorse July 20th, 2023
(Image by Myriams-Fotos from Pixabay)