A Hundred Thousand Leaves

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The end of that which never was

Simultaneously
Everything
And Nothing at all

Dancing at the edge of a feather

Woven
Flowing
Inseparably
In and through
Itself
And each other

Not like all things lumped together
Which many term as oneness

More like where there are no things
To be together
Or apart

An expanse
Without centre nor circumference

An edgeless-ness
A seamlessness

The bowl holding the space
Within
The space holding the bowl
Without

The bowl
The space
Cannot be told apart

A luminosity
Where edges and seams
Blur

The separation mentally fabricated

It can appear looking like anything at all

And here we are

Playing
Laughing
Crying
Loving

You
Me
Love
And
Laughter
And
Tears
And
Beauty

A painted florid dream

It's not a memory

Palpably felt
Heart beat

It's always on
It's not separate

And the need to know dissipates
Like early morning dew

The would be knower
A melting fragrance
Of an unknown bloom
Drowned in its own perfume

And words sashay
This way and that

Transparent

A twist of lime
Mille feuille

A hundred thousand leaves

Delectable

A gliding gaze
Empty of even emptiness
Savouring its own taste

A feeling tone of nowhere left to go
And no one coming or going

Not even
"This is it"

Even as I hear many
Chanting it repeatedly
Almost like a mantra

An intellectual self-hypnosis

Implicit in
This is it
Is
That is not

Very much like
"Now is all there is"

Picketing a fence

Nor is being a "nobody"
A to be coveted goal

A back handed compliment
Much as it may sound

A dangled carrot
Hung
At the tip of the noose

As opposed to being a "somebody"
Giving being a somebody a bad rap

Even as a seeker
Might misconstrue

A prize hard won
Like a badge of having arrived
And fall promptly in love
With the new gotten image

Most want to escape their human-ness

This achy-breaky heart

Life's joys and sorrows

It's who we are
All we've got

Catch a falling star
And put it in your pocket

Words

A hundred thousand leaves
Singing in the wind