We Are

We are 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 we start and end?

What a funny question,

For we clearly have no edges.

Within us, anything might appear,

Here... a coffee flask, a tree, a deer!
And we meld with each expression, free of separation,

For all that dances within us, our consciousness, our view,

Is us too.

I do not know much

But I do know that

We meet ourselves and others and joy and love when the mind is still;

When nothing is imposed

And nothing is awry.

Words can only point to how it is

To exist like this;

As the canvas, as the sky.
So, let us stop engaging with word

And be what we are,
Free of divide.