there is no such thing as silence.
but looking inward with total presence
yields another world,
a different fabric to being,
a world without thought-forms,
without the flight of words.
nothing spoken or heard passes.
presence is its own engagement.
the obviousness of the senses
is released from the urgency of duty.
everything is of its own accord.
mindful attendance is absorbed
by the hologram of being,
without record, account or interpretation.
it is loud in another dimension,
consuming with custody.
each cell to its own.
breath is the river in passing.
heart is all sky
and mind is all ground.
each on their own,
as if there was separation of task history.
there is no place to go,
when all is in passage on its own.
silence requires a past history
to compare with or contrast.
time is not an operative of measure.
space has no surface.
feeling has left the world of embrace,
to be . . .
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