Song of songs

Realizing I am powerless;
unable to even write these words,
together we notice their beauty.
Yea, this is not my handwriting,
it is a pattern in the circulation
of our collective consciousness.
Nothing I can say is true in the light of awareness
where I is the creation of movement.
With the sunrise in the East,
life enters as a breath upon us.
Time and space together like a great river
carry our weight.
Sensing neither beginning nor ending
save to that which our mind has created,
our names, dates, and lessons
have each dissolved into an eternity
of this seamless vision.
The question of who I am is senseless
when there is no one there to ask the question.
Where is the surface of myself
when without the sun in the sky
there is no me?
Hidden behind every tree
and under every stone,
is the gift of the infinite present.

Change being constant
and constant being change,
attachment is noticed and then forgotten
as the sun dies in supernova.
This pile
this landfill
this man-hill
is a notion.
Without meaning-
without a direction,
this is like a dream
with persistent interruptions.
From a spacecraft,
we are colors on a rock
fighting for survival.
Vigor in code.
Sing.

Sing your song, and give thanks
for the awareness
of your life.

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