Writing Where I Am

Everything exists on the ledge of the present

To be in the moment is the only platform of existence

As if everything that occurs could not have ever been or ever be

But in now

The grips to craft the clay of the past to mold a future self acceptable to ego

Are at the root of suffering distancing the liveliness of consciousness

The constant boxing match to find completeness in this universe

Through our conception of another providing the faith in ourselves we lack

Lifts love’s sail as the image holds in the mind

Only to limp, foil, and crash as the ideal wanes into what the other never was

Revealing our ego’s lack of embracing what we are

As part of the whole sent to be, to use this partitioned illusion of self

To act in the present as our current fleeting arrangement

Daring to acknowledge the eternity reverberating in the divinity flashing

That volition fluxes to let go of blame, guilt, anger, depression, and fear

So that we may love ourselves as the universe and with this passion love all we encounter

These are the challenges of the turnstile

As the choice of egos collide foul and sweet, congruent and incomplete

To sense a true breath of the universe is shocking as absolute presence

The awareness of all that surrounds is pulsing as the is

We dance in this meter while we hear it, we sing as this melody while we breathe it

The adjoining of beats lifts individuals to entwine in the cosmic ballet

In ending the ego must not attempt to hold, control, or linger

One must accept the authority of the now

Communicate the desire of volition and let go completely or suffer the lash of countless loves

Wanting at the moonlit steps of authenticity’s aroma,

For to see the interchange acknowledges the universe

To hunger for the specificity tasted imprisons oneself in the cage of the ego

As if one needed; as if one was not complete

In harmony with the all; as if one needed to ever need

The soft touch, the recognition of presence by a beloved

These are the wages of human frailty paid in labors most intimate

The rapture of eternity and a conscious being’s time flirting with preciousness

As if time and individuality were not illusions

Daring us to drink the wine of the ego

To see the totality through the prism of the self

The art, the dance, the painting, the poem, the film, the play, the song  

Created and vibrating in the atomic theater ricocheting through eons

At peace that the tragedies of suffering washing the banks are but

A single reconciled moment in all that ever is like the vision of a universal consciousness

Reading a page shifting eyesight from letter through word to letter

Soaking in a present that appears to move, but never does

The page, the sentence, the word, the letter are a constant

A singularity exploding with only the prestidigitation of our ego’s outstretched hand

Attempting to grab the fleeting moment; gone, always gone

In always in, never a platform for control, but in release of thought

Freedom from the manacles of perfection’s untouchable surface

Radiance is most closely sparkling in simply being in the is

For in this I accept

There is no me; there is no you;

Only this whole reverberating

There is no justice; there is no peace

There is only that which we do to ourselves

Pulsating like an experiment we do unto us dancing in the now

Rationalizing consciousness itself as to why we ever started choosing

Over the flatness of that which we are outside of existence

As parts of us depart and return into and out of others and our self

We are writing where we are so that we may find ourselves

In this there is no suffering; there is a grand empathy beyond

Acceptance in the collective understanding our current form for what we are

In this human limitation shifting to be listening in the now