I Am

I am not the painting, but the blank canvas;

The bright, blue sky; joyous and clear.

Here, ready, a delighted host

To all that is and all that might become.

Where do I start and end?

What a funny question,

For I clearly have no edges.

Within me, anything might appear,

Here, a coffee flask, a tree, a deer,

And I join with each expression,

And experience the contemplation, that

All that dances within me, this consciousness, this view,

Is me too.

I do not know much,

But I do know this;

That we meet ourselves in silence

When nothing is resisted,

Serious or awry.

Oh, how 'me' it feels to exist,

As the canvas, as the sky.