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I came, I went, yet I am always here.
I lived, will die, yet I am always here.
I hurt, I sicken, yet I am always here.
What does this tell me, being always here?
My meaning, my aging, my private pain
Have no real value when I am always here.
My special history is just a dream,
A kaleidoscope of changing pictures;
I only have this moment to awake.
My fancy images of what has been
Evaporate like shining mirages
When I come upon the actual scene.
The instant taking in of what is here
Wipes out my past and bars the future days.
I"m snapped in place without a trace of me.
A total nought, filled with the busy world,
The portion that comes slipping in right now.
No more, no less, a lightsome show of shows
Put on, of course, for no one here at all,
An absent viewer of the moving view,
Eternally grateful, heartened with joy.
Author Bio :
Written by Virginia Parsell. For more from this author goto http://www.headless.org The Headless Way is a site dedicated to awakening to who we all really are, using the experimental method of Douglas Harding.
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