Cohen 4th Sept '11
I wake, as if from a dream.
The world appears....?
...and the world appears!
Clarity squeeze,
Diluted fragments of other peoples minds.
Convinced recollections are mind no more,
Nor are they yours.
With this incessant merging,
Clarity may be viewed as confused.
Reality is no longer a reference point.
Judgments, intentions, obsessions,
Where do these worlds exist?
Statements made unknowingly.
Ethereal conversations behind the eyes.
Someone else's world thrown forth in front of you,
Echoes of rule books, penance and half forgotten mantras.
The buzz that makes me me and you you.
All sense of truth is lost in the noise of the collision.
But that is not all.
There is always so much more.
Nature beats at her potential.
The quiet room is always still,
The movie screen lays blank beneath the projectors image.
And all these concepts of 'I' hold no wisdom.
For I am free, I am aware, and I know myself,
I know this body.
It is my vessel on this voyage through existence,
It is me.
It is the truth, I am the movie image,
And the space between.
I am the experience,
I am the conditions,
I am the rememberer,
the projector,
the forest pool,
the awakened,
The dreamer, the lover, the hated and the kind.
For all are shadows, moments on rice paper walls.
They are our potential,
Each wait for there moment to be expressed.
They are our reality, they are the truth,
The collision is the moment.
The chaos is the beauty.
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