Before trees after mountains nothing
Out in a field of flowers beyond the urban sprawl of birth and death ........ the shattering of light, a shimmering of color, this tender-hearted moment, a single pause.
Before trees after mountains nothing … but not the despairing nothingness of existentialists - the of happy go lucky no-thing-ness of siddhas. Before my parents were born, nothing. After this walking meat bag is gone, nothing. What shall I fear now abiding in this palace beyond cares. Light cascades from no-where to no-thing, unborn, unceasing.
My Guru whispered in my ear “you are not what you think yourself to be” – seed of longing broke open and the flower of trust blossomed. Now mind, gone to nothing in spacious ease - delight frolics in fields of luminous play-full-ness, not two, not one, a mystery beyond concept, birth or death – and body has become the whisper - the simple words, the act of Love.