art Martin Stranka
Forgive me if I stop here…
Here where I cannot find "myself" as an object,
And have discovered, with a shock…
That “i” am just a thought, a feeling.
Let me just rest here awhile,
Reveling in this Unimaginable Freedom,
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 that placeless place where I find myself,
Not a thing alive, but only...
The Event 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… Existence, Consciousness, Bliss…
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.
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