Forgive me if I stop here…
Where I cannot find “myself” as an object,
And have discovered, with a shock…
That “I” am just a feeling, a felt sense.
Let me just rest here awhile,
Reveling in this Exquisite Experience,
Before we go on to think “about” it all.
To come up with words like Consciousness,
Or Brahman,
Or Emptiness…
Or… whatever.
Words to describe what remains,
In this placeless place, where I find myself,
Not a thing alive, but only…
Aliveness Itself; he Experience of Existence.
Words to explain the unexplainable,
To speak of that which cannot be spoken of,
To describe this Great Mystery…
Within which all descriptions arise.
It's enough for me to simply sit here,
Drowning in Wonder, that "i" do not exist,
And yet… the Ineffable Bliss of Existence…
Is.
On second thought…
You know what?
You go on ahead.
I'll catch up with you later,
And you can tell me all that you've come up with,
In the way of concepts, theories, and conjecture “about”…
This Unfathomable Mystery.
Just please forgive me if I appear uninterested.
For in the Immediacy of Experience,
In this Fullness, Completion, and Bliss…
I've lost all interest in Aboutism.
