Friday, August 23, 2013

Chuck Surface - That said…

It's impossibly complex,
This dance of formlessness in form;
Full of contradictions that are simply impossible,
And yet… so.

The Beloved is in my Heart,
Whether this body sits in a grey cubicle,
Or stands on a glorious beach.

She neither increases nor diminishes
In either place,
For Her Radiance is beyond conditionality.

To speak dualistically,
She lives in the so-called "inner" world,
Concurrent with the so-called "outer" world.

How do both exist at once, seamlessly?
I've no idea,
No mind for such complexities.

While seeking has ceased, “inwardly”,
Preferences, propensities, and proclivities exist

I prefer lofty clouds, soft sand,
And the vastness of the beach,
To the grey cubicle.

But the Beloved...
Effortlessly ever-present,
Knows nothing of these differences.

She is in my Heart, Always,
In Her Secret Garden,
Where Inner and outer have never existed.

There is no need to move,
From here, to there,
To do this, or not do that.

Form arises…
Within and As

That said…
Out there…
I prefer this to that.

Two sugars,

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