Trees sway in the Santa Ana wind,
Dappled sunlight dances across the room.
Warm puppy in the cave beneath my desk,
Curled against my bare feet.
Coolness against my face,
The silent fan turning.
Like ocean sounds.
And here, in this Locus of Form,
One the drummer I've known since birth,
Beating in my breast.
A shining sun,
A fluttering breeze,
An fragrant blossoming,
An overflowing wellspring,
A breathing in and out of Bliss,
Flooding the Experience of Being.
Form and formlessness,
Both… at once.
Tell me, where does one end,
And the other begin?