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, any thing might appear,

Look... a coffee flask, a tree, a dear!

And I welcome each expression with a smile,

For isn't all that dances within me, this consciousness, this view,

Not me too?

What I know for sure

Is that I meet me and joy and love when the mind is still;

When nothing is imposed

And nothing is awry.

Ah, how good it feels

To exist like this,

As the canvas, as the sky.