I Wish I Could Tell


I am not perfected.
  Nor do I know of any such beings.
  But this Love…
This Love is Perfect.


I wish I could tell you what “I” am,
Now that the experience of “i” has vanished.

The mind loves the comfort of “knowing”,
And others want to know “how”.

But I can't.

Consciousness, Emptiness, Brahman, God?
Just words to me.

Concept, theory, and conjecture.
I'll let others blather on about them.

I know only that I Am,
But have no idea “what” I Am.

I am, if you insist,
Simply this Experience of Being.

The Blissful vibration
Of Being… of Life.

To get here,
You must poke a hole in Heaven,

And let “i” drown and dissolve,
In the river of Blissful Dissolution that ensues,

Drown and dissolve,
Into the Experience of Being.

And when you are dissolved,
Only this Great Mystery will remain.

If you name it, you do no one a favor,
Making a thing of it, however thingless.

It's sufficient not to know.
For all… is… Accomplished,

And Heaven will shine in your Ignorant Heart.
Fullness, Completion, Bliss.

Though I may sorrow and suffer,
The pains of manifest existence,

My Heart is Radiant,
With the Bliss of Heaven.

Though I may wince in pain,
Or sob uncontrollably,

Within… the Glory of Satchitananda
Colors the Sky in which all appears and vanishes.

I am not a “perfected” Being,
Free of samskaras and vasanas.

I know of no such Beings.

But Ananda, Shining in the Heart…
This Love… is Perfect.

And through its Unimaginable Grace,
Imperfection is made… Immaculate.