the feng shui of an empty mind,
that no thought stands alone.
even thinking, of itself, is burdensome.
thought is but the camouflage of feelings.
the pallet of the brain is cluttered with samplings.
experiences, as paint color selections, are dab-possible
yet to see what has not ever been seen.
to live, for within the brain ambiance
and not for the pictorials, the settings,
the descriptives or the evidential displays.
fluid without need for reveal of passage.
new moments are always deeply one in the same.
a self, is standing in the dappled shade of particulars
and the luster of penetrative light in nurturance.
for that which presents as boundaries, are in passing.
there is the spread of truth
without the delay of dimensions.
particulars are as offerings,
as blossoms brought out of seasons’ displays.
this is the language of the whole,
spoken without the attention of pronouncement,
functioning as an endless overheard prayer,
embodiment to never meet up with strange.
strengthenings are next moment’s ease of embrace.
relationships are with the ever-flow in passing,
born of the fragrances of emptiness that incentivized,
as motives without parenting,
dreams without disclosure,
all the working parts of harmony,
without evidence,
no shelf-life to documentation.
time is but the breeze
silently passing through distant trees
with the encouragement of vast
and the inhale of unceasing.
spacial is spiritual,
as awareness is in harmony . . .
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