No end, No beginning

There is no end
There is no beginning
Just one line.

As humans we like to believe that we have the power to adjust that line and to make it into a curve, much like sound waves.
We do not.

Lately I have been staring
Just plain staring at my surroundings
There is no point in reading books anymore
No more point in researching about our Divine Mother

It all has come to an end
And therefore a beginning
Of something old
And new
Yesterday the “I” that does not exist
Spent hours staring at a ceiling
Then at trees in a park
Then at the sparks of light that occurr
Then at the light that surrounds me

Then I spent smelling strange smells
That seem to emanate from everywhere and nowhere
“I” am trying to chase them,
Yet there is no source to be found

The moment one realizes
That there is no “I”
No ego
No Nothing

Then what to do?

There exists no more doing
Just Being

Then one has to create a sense
That seems okay to the other humans around one
As one could just spend all day staring

One remembers faintly their old life
The biggest fear
One had, was back then to become homeless
But then one day
One realized
That the worst thing that could happen
Would be to live in a park or the forest

And this seems much more preferable than dying in a cube

The other fear that used to reside in one
Had been to die alone
Not even death per se
As we are all dying
Every second of our life

Then one realized that
One is never alone
That we remain interconnected
All the time
Even when seemingly “alone”
In nature or “at home”

What to do then?

There is nothing left to do
Nothing left to say
As all has been written and said

In a million different ways
Much like all the books and literature
Of meditation techniques

One has to teach people on how to be

But they refuse

They come up with arguments

Their witting mind that does not exist
Stepping into their own way

How come they
Cannot see
That light is already within them
Surrounding them

Their thoughts
Spinning like a wheel
All the time
They are everywhere and nowhere

Lately one has been sleeping on the couch in the living room

But what makes a living room a living room?

Why, you ask?

It is an old house
And one lives underneath the attic
It has been boiling hot
And a sauna-like inferno had unfolded
Underneath that roof
So one migrated to the living

Which is neither a living
Nor a dying

It is not even a thing

“Poornamada Poornamidam”

When one is already full

Then the only thing
That remains

Is to Be

Shakespeare made an extremely valid point here.
And one contents oneself
To read poetry

It makes more sense
Than none

2 thoughts on “No end, No beginning

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