All that I see,
All that I hear,
All that I taste,
All that I touch,
All is not other than me.

The wafty smells
Of a September rain
Arise from my skin,
My bones, my deep,
Dark, dank earth.

And the great cosmic mirror
Reflects colors in the sky
Like a rainbow.

I am the archer
Drawing landscapes
And light beams
Upon the banks
Of a thousand endless shores.

Crossing over,
I hear the sound
Of a rushing wind
And taste of dreams
Of a thousand tired monks
Sleepy in their castles
Their cold, quiet beds.

I am that,
Beyond description
Empty of any
Definable traits,
Yet full of luminous

Manifesting out of the
Movements of the ineffable,
Continuity ensues
Like a ball rolling down a hill.

Continuously appearing,
Continuously removed.
All self-liberates
In the splendor of an ocean,
In the truth of a life lived.

The undeniable fantasy
Disappears in the twinkling
Of an eye.
I am whole again.
I am but a moment
In time.
I am that,
All and nothing.

This now is content.
This now is at peace.
This now is the fruition.
This now is enough.

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