the ancient miracle

the owlet moth

the ancient miracle the unconditional consciousness the point of brilliance where all things vanish in the light. then there is no separation no experiencer, no other, and in this emptiness only one resides imagining other separate consciousness the very end of pure truth, love, in the mirrors face, I can find none no thought. feeling, reaction. no vessel contains, no idea, no human left, only singularity. no voice or sound, light or dark  guides the soul to bring forth that which creates universes and as swiftly destroys them, lifting this empty palm where only Shiva returning all to his state, no safety from life  standing in the force untouched, grateful too be alive,  the knowing is a collection of habits repeating endlessly, the miracle is bound in the 5 sense, from which all  comparisons are made, image seen, totality becomes Shiva, swiftly bringing all to it end, and in that instant, newness occurs, there the miracle cannot stop, the step into the void and then only realizing its cessation, the mind is like the diving board, where it exists only to fling the hopeless emotions into so beautiful the azure sky and sea, waves of pure energy lifting to becoming the infinite perfection of every form shared with every drop of consciousness, and patiently awaits the inevitability that the tree of life extends through the primal form and its every iteration, evolution and change, allowing for the passage  of a finite self transporting into the eternal present. touching becoming the sane as everyone, both within and without, light is indistinct, time swallowed by the emptiness and ceases internally, allowing the exhilaration and the collapse in equal portions, delay not this world but the very sense of waiting that has no fulfillment no sensation, the void itself surrounded on all sides by frothing consciousness that has but one function, to be released, this soul heart awareness truth, beating in unbearable unconditional rhythmic dancing, propelling each and every human to seek that which is eternally silent. let no words confuse, the microscopic self its virtual mind approximating the measurements of its own experiences into the purity of this moment where nothing touches any other thing, but lives eternally within