the veil lifts momentarily

the veil lifts momentarily, light ascends with the winds whipping the fog like clouds through the stream of air around the mountain, shielding the sun that shines full moon like through the rushing train of clouds in the sky. the air is chill with moisture and I am soaked in sweat, even stopping to catch my breath is a universe of improbabilities, freezing in the overheated flesh, soaked in sweat that is both hot and cold, I experience the unlikeliest feeling of disconnection and illusion, this is not my body and I am not a passenger on this journey. somewhere the engine runs and the hand upon the tiller is neither real nor mine, yet there is no doubt I am running the projector but the screen and the film are from some ancient archive and seated below are every one of me, each imagining that this movie is my life and each certain that the individual is the only one. barriers of space and time compete to separate each experience, produce thoughts of singular nature and disconnection, yet only one screen reflects and one projector plays, but for each there is no other and alone the world shrinks to a pinpoint of existence that has no foundation. in this unmerciful configuration, I exist, alone, distant from everything else, yet even as I stand on the rock in the wind on the mountain, I become the sky and the sun and the whipping winds surrounding everything. where am I, perhaps is a better question, for the who is too mysterious to separate from this flesh and bone of desires. life lust impatience, I give it away to know, to drop this moment in time into the well of existence and unexamine what is happening. not knowing is the only truth, for these lies of self and nonsense of no self dismember and disembowel the sanity of life. one creature alone has no place yet exists without time, without knowing, just being. but everyone is that loneliness that unseparated self, the silence that sound cannot penetrate. sitting in an agony of penetrating force, there is no comfort from what is called the spiritual existence, for as the truth descends the self is destroyed in increments, each a cutting a peeling an excision and a revision, until the idea that anything remains is lost and what is the truth becomes a shambles of disconnected pieces crumbling. to not know is divine and to just be the truth. there is no teaching the path, no guide for the journey to nowhere. become one and listen to the mountain, it rocks.