Your story written on pages
that are now tattered around the edges
and turning yellow...
does not describe who you are.
The photos with the turned up corners
and fading images
that you display in albums
on your coffee table...
do not show who you really are.
The memories that dance
through your scattered dreams
and the wishes for something more
that fill you with a pain
and an expectation
you will not let go of...
are not you.
This aging body
with its lines,
creases
and ailing organs
is just a shallow carcass
housing something greater...
it is not you.
The title you pin to your chest
or hang in a frame with black casing
on you wall
is only a role you play...
it isn't you either.
The judgements
and interpretations
you make of the things
that pour through your senses
and jumble around in your frontal cortex...
are not you.
The noisy and ceaseless
thinking in your head
that constantly competes
with the thumping of your heart...
is not you either.
Your pain,
your sorrow,
your hope
for something better tomorrow
are just mental wisps
that are meant to move through you
before they disappear...
they are not you.
Your seeking,
your clinging,
your resisting,
your struggling
against all that is ...
is not you.
This world you live in
that seems so solid and tangible
is nothing more
than vapour and mist
and all that you think
you are within it
is nothing more than smoke...
it is not you.
You are beneath all this...
a stage for all this....
a backdrop of perfection
created in
perfect stillness,
perfect quiet,
perfect awareness.
You are what watches
without disturbance
all the forms that dance
around upon you,
that play and act the parts
the world of form scripts.
You are what is aware
of the drama,
the beauty,
the suffering
unfolding
without judgment
or critique...
just awareness.
The breath you breathe
is the curtain
that slowly opens and closes
over this world,
drawing you inward
to the space that is everything.
You are that breath.
You are that everything.
© Dale-Lyn (Pen) 2019
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