In this space, in this very directness
This raw immediacy, there's no destination,
No journey to embark upon,
Just a gathering of moments,
Drifting in the sea of intentionlessness.
The apparent individual seeks solidity in the ephemeral,
Yearning for the tangible amidst the ethereal,
But it's a futile voyage,
For what it seeks is already what is
The pursuit of 'real’, ‘enlightenment’ or ‘truth’ is an endless loop,
A carousel of desires spinning endlessly,
Yet what is remains elusive,
Hidden in the play of existence.
Most wanderers are unaware,
Lost in the labyrinth of sensation,
Chasing transient pleasures,
Blind to the futility of the pursuit.
Here, in the heart of existence,
There's no solution to be found,
Only the stark realization,
That the individual is but a fleeting mirage.
What is spoken of is undesirable,
For it signals the demise of 'I', ’me’, the individual
A fate the illusory ego recoils from,
In its desperate grasp for significance.
Yet, in this ineffable moment,
There's no room for want or desire,
Only the pure essence of this is-ness,
Manifesting in every step, breath, and sigh.
This is the symphony of existence,
The chorus of life's infinite song,
In every whisper of the wind,
And every echo of the unknown.
