Talking of two cultures
a person implied there is a canyon so deep,
So full of difference,
That one cannot step over it.
Yet I feel that the only thing
preventing a person from connection,
Pure and true in the moment love,
Is the mind.
I see myself morph into different people,
Infinite are my masks and equally unpredictable.
My bag is almost empty.
The baggage accumulated through life
tossed aside into nothingness,
For it was nothing to begin with,
A fleeting moment
held in the memory
of body and mind.
I watch thoughts come…
The mind
constantly searching
to be occupied and bothered.
In no longer resisting the nature of being human,
The mind is part of the experience after all,
It actually holds less power.
Meditation, I realise,
Is a constant practice
as you see through thoughts
and watch them fade into nothing.
Meditation is not a practice at all,
but a shift in being,
An alternate human experience.
It is being utterly present
to emotions, feelings, physical sensations,
To this wondrous body,
so seemingly disconnected are we,
So unaware of this vessel.
The human experience is incomprehensible.
The finite mind
cannot see the infinite,
Neither can it define
or understand it.
It can merely see through what it’s not
until there’s nothing left,
No shadow of Maya,
No misshapen perception rooted in fear.
Only Truth.