The Flame Of The Forest...

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How wondrous....

This overlay....

Of this and that....

Kissing...touching...

The parted lips...

A breathless whisper....

A gasp....

Of an emptiness empty of itself....

Aaaaaahhhhhhh.....

You can't you touch this...

The attempts to grasp....the clutching at straws....

Like a drowning man.....

Geez....how the mind even comes up with all this cockamamie stuff.....

And then yearns for ideas of forever....eternal...

Scaring itself silly with the loss of an imaginary self....

Death.....

Of those very same ideas that it spun into gossamer dreams to begin with....

The longing to do and undo unto itself....

This phantasmagorical phantom of the opera.....

Setting a thief to catch a thief....

Grasping....reaching out with pseudopodium ideas....

Other ideas to feed itself....

Sending it's tentacles out into the collective thought stream.....

The I Am.....

The biggest concept of them all.....

Without the I am this....

Or I am that.....

The I am simply doesn't exist....

It has no existential reality of it's own....

Without this consensus conceptual overlay....

There's not even nothing there.....

And yet the joy and bliss of simply being....being....

Awareness aware of being awareness....

Does not come from the I am....devoid of this or that....

As many an ancient dusty text and learned pundit would have you believe....

The I Am....being a stand alone separate thing....

Is just another idea of a bigger better me....

In the superlative....

The separation seemingly falls away....
It was simply never even there.....

And it is known

That all this knowingness....

Was always unknown.....

And the knower itself...

The hallucinating dream....

That there never were any separate things....
That there never even were any things....
Nor any holder of things....

There's not even nothing there under the garments....

No emperor ....
Under the clothes....
New or old....

It's simply stunningly glorious.....

And the bliss seeps through and in....all over the named places.....

And the birdsongs echo from the orange blossoms of the Flame Of The Forest trees.....

Peeping through the foliage....

Like this...

Your own heart songs coming back to you...

It was your own arms that you hungered for....
Looking for it in another's embrace....

Knowing the other is non other than yourself...

Love turns around and kisses you on the lips....

Yet without the other....
No singer...no listener...no song....

And you swoon as love into love....
Through love....

This beautimous dance.....

Of the lover and the beloved....
And love.....

Sings like this....