Rupert Spira - The Unknowable Reality of Things

 

I take my pen from its sheath
And offer its sharp, linear blackness, unknowing,
To this open expanse of empty white
And give the world time to find itself,
Inviting it to unravel the lineaments of fields
And rivers and seas and skies and minds,
To wrap in abstract gestures
The shape of silent things
That cannot be told,
To weave its searching thread on the page
Like a trail of smoke in an empty sky,
To trace the residue of its waiting,
Making known the unknowable
Reality of things
With its fading line,
To invite the shapelessness of things
To take shape
And to make a vessel
From which to taste itself.

And as I turn the page,
The world again closes its eyes
And untangles
The unwoven fabric of its dreaming,
Giving itself back in silence,
To the bright, empty,
Unknowable reality of things.

Although each of us
Has the deep intuition that what I am
Is eternal, infinite,
Without limits, ever-present,
We have imagined that what we are
is a finite object
And therefore, ‘I am going to disappear’.

At some point, we turn ‘round.
We ask ourselves
‘What is this one
Who is seeking, searching?’

And when we look for it
We don’t find the entity
Around whom our entire lives
For 20, 30, 40, 50, 60 years
Have been revolving.
~ ~ ~

http://www.rupertspira.com/ 

thanks to Amaya Aum for transcript