How?

How does one be
Without striving to be ‘a better something’?

I’m coming to see
That ‘better’ is an illusion.

But if I don’t pursue the better
What do I have to my merit?

And if I don’t have any merit
What do I call my own?

And without having something
To call my own, what belongs to me?

To whom do I belong?
Where do I belong?

To no one? To all?
To nowhere? To everywhere?

How does one feel complete
Without ownership?

How does one feel fulfilled
Without achievement or acquisition?

How does one know love
Without attachment?

How does one know fullness
When one feels emptiness?

How?

Why are you keeping it a secret?

From whom should my secret be a secret

When all is me…?

(In that I have faith

But knowledge is still to dawn).

My breath enlivens my whole body

But my appreciation of this fact is partial.

How do I feel it in every muscle, every nerve, every cell?

How do I see its immanence?

I attempt to watch the essence

And grapple with my darkness

And in that I hear a  voice speak:

“I know you’re secretly looking for me

But why are you keeping it a secret?”