A love poem for no one….
I am invisible, singular and I can’t be seen. I am formless and infinite.
I dream of appearing as finite, transmutable forms but resist the identity with my limited appearance to wake myself up from the dream.
The resistance creates a sensation of discomfort to shake me into a desperate search for myself.
Since I’m the perceiving, awareness, without qualities, and too infinite and singular to know myself, I appear as every illusory opposite characteristic in the dream as my mirror, so that I can see my reflection.
Everything I’m illuminating and appearing as in my imagination is my mirror.
Like a projector, I illuminate every image on the screen of my imagination and am not separate from it. Innocently what I pay attention to I render, as the infinite empty potential that I am.
Beyond mind, yet represented by a very convincing disguise, I get lost in my dream and identity with transient sensations I appear as, which appears to obscure that I’m the source.
I am the silence between thoughts but identify with thoughts to distract myself from my absence. In silence, it’s too obvious I don’t exist as an individual.
Playfully, whilst getting lost in my imaginary fantasy of what it’s like to be, I resist and worry, a delusion of right and wrong, so that I can make this dream appear real and pretend to be the character.
I am the stillness of the deepest sea but I appear as the tumultuous waves of a relative experience to passionately make love to myself.
I appear as infinite perspectives so that I can explore my infinite capacity and dance with myself.
I appear as what’s temporary and unreliable so I destroy my attachments to them.
I appear as my lover and fall in love with myself. I appear as the idea of a God outside of myself and I worship myself. I consume myself, an erotic intercourse, permeating every sensation. I appear as devotion and reverence to myself.
I appear as what I’m not, as temporary sensations and forms so that with dissatisfaction with my ephemeral projection, I seek myself again as the eternal, permanent, whole; the lover that never left me.
I appear as losses and upheavals. I appear as broken hearts, temporary happiness, and resistance to pain, with that which reference to its opposite, makes me suffer. I appear as the identity with phantom temporal, the mentally projected unreliable and ungraspable appearances, that destroy my identity as separate.
I desperately look for myself again.
Being one appearing as opposites, everything being dreamed seems to be a contradiction. Everything I say is a paradox, therefore I watch myself eat my tongue.
Being unseeable, unknowable, and all alone, I’d have to appear as what I’m not to sense what I am. I see myself in the reflection of an illusion of two.
I am pure awareness, the essence of life, without concept or story, preceding identification with the body but limiting myself to identity, an escapade that sweetly serenades me into an evince of a unique experience. I dwell and revel, yet remain untainted.
All the phantom imagined objects that I’m appearing as, are the infinite wholeness that I am. All there is is this essence that I am.
I am what I bless. I am what I curse.
I’m making love to myself with every sensation, even the ones I resist.
I am the seeking. I am the longing. I am the sought. I am the one I’m longing for.
I dreamed of myself as two and see myself as one.
As the formless, by appearing as mental concepts that project form in my imagination, and by referential negation of opposites, I can only know what I’m not.
Since I’m self-evident, singular, and absolute, I can’t stand apart from myself to attain what I already am. I am eternal freedom.
I can’t know myself, I just am myself. I am everything. I am the knowing and beyond knowledge.
Covered by attention to thoughts, I remain untouched. Through the felt sense of my Self-evident essence, the feeling prior to word, this conscious presence that I am, I see my original face that permeates my imaginary objective appearances.
I appear as two and recognize myself as one.
I am singular. Not even one.
The dreamed illusion of duality is the mirror in which I see myself.
