Why do you assume
that you are rising,
that you are on a journey,
that you move upon the world,
in time,
among the stars,
when in fact the stars move
on their journey through your breath,
time falls through your stillness,
the world is born each instant and dies
in the silence of the one who watches
but refuses to name it?
Why do you assume
there needs to be a knower
when things happen quite as they are
without being known or unknown?
Why not abandon
what was never yours to carry?
Be the field, not the photon.
Be the meadow, not the poppy.
Come thistledown,
float through us.
Whirl, earth,
at the core of this heart.
There never was an "inside"
or an "outside,"
but plentiful vastness in quietude
for all that ever was
or will be to happen
in a single unending moment.
We’re always here, You and I,
nestled in the weaving
of this prayer before dawn.
Photo by Muhammad Rehan
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