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The Illusion of 'this' by Emerson Non-duality

In this paradoxical realm,

What seems real may not be,

It is both and neither,

An emptiness masquerading as fullness,

Unity disguised as division.

From this paradox springs an illusion,

An illusion of 'me' or a “self” experiencing 'this',

A feeling so achingly tangible,

There's no room to doubt its reality.

But this duality breeds discontent,

An itch to stitch together fragments,

To mend the sense of incompleteness,

To make the imperfect perfect.

Thus, 'this' morphs into 'my life',

A quest to better, to fix, to seek,

To soothe the ache of wrongness,

To unearth the elusive rightness.

Yet here, in these exchanges,

Unveilings occur,

Pointing to what is always “this”

The illusion of separateness,

The mirage of an individual in need,

All dissolve into nothingness.

In it’s essence, 'this' is whole,

Nothing lacking, nothing needed.

Here lies the end of seeking,

Not in discovery, but in disappearance.

What remains is all-encompassing:


No longer sought, but simply embraced.

In every moment, every sensation,

Lies the completeness that is yearned for,

Beyond the grasp of individual desires,

Beyond the confines of 'I am.'

For it's not a personal wholeness that is sought,

But the wholeness of existence as it is,

Already present, already whole,

In the endless dance of THIS.

The illusion of ‘this’ which is also THIS.

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