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Control

No, you cannot control it;

and yet it turns

when you turn.

Whose?

A sudden rush of birds

in chattering chorus:

right now

this backyard mind,

whose?

Immeasurable Immensity

Immeasurable immensity:

the flight of a dust mote;

a tiny being’s itch;

the barest crease

of your smile.

The Price Of Honesty

The price of honesty:

the end of self-contained,

quite believable,

and quite believed,

narratives.

Honestly, then what?

Clarity

No need to remove the veil:

simply seeing through

is clarity.

Lost?

You misplace your keys. You need them now. Where are they?

You look on your bed, on the kitchen and coffee tables, on the desk, under sheets and papers, in cracks and crevices and every under-space, and all along the floors.

Wherever you look, you do not see the very environment before your eyes; you see only what isn’t, the expectation of keys, everything else merely a surplus of obtrusive thingness.

And this is not qualitatively different from how fixed and isolated self orients the world, seeing nothing but its own narrow self-concern, all else, all others, only an uncanny amalgam of indifference and effrontery.

And this is not qualitatively different -
in the very fullness of seeking -
from immersive totality without limit,
without self.

What Then?

If you want to change for the better

and all that you hear, think and do

isn’t helping -

what then?

Sure you know what’s better?

What would happen

if you were simply unsure –

even shorn of the conclusion
of your unworthiness –

if all the knowing thinking

just stopped?

Acting

Much of the time,

you are acting

or going through the motions,

pretending yourself through life.

You being not you,

that’s you.

When and why does this happen

and when and why does it not?

Centering

You center:
myriad beings, phenomena
and natural forces;
conceptual, linguistic
and social structures;
understandings,
misapprehensions, 
and contradictions -
all taking shape
as a given occasion, 
as your very expression.    

I’m(mortality)

The truth of your mortality -

your tenuousness -

is revealed

not only by a new line in your face 
or an oh my gray hair,

not only by recurring hunger and thirst

or in witnessing the deaths 
of living beings around you,

but as well 
because the ‘you’ of your thoughts  – 
the self-image you think into existence

along with the images of others –

shifts and fades away

again and again

right before your eyes.

Some times you notice:
my self has no constancy,
my self cannot be grasped -
and so too with the I’s of others.

Here a question remains:

how does this noticing occur?

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