The river of experience flows
like a bloodstream
pumped by Being, each
scarlet tendril reaching back
like a finger toward Self.

I am untouched by the rains

that saturate the growing 
grounds, and yet, 
the sweet taste of berry
I know well.

I am Love loving itself, 
constantly, rhythmically, 
over stones and rocks,
sand and dirt.
Nothing can mar my 
unyielding glory.
Death is a cool pebble 
in my stream, 
romantic love a colorful, 
slippery fish that somersaults
for my amusement. 

I rise above all, and descend
deeper than anything.

Beauty is happening,
and it appears without
my interference, yet
only exists as me.

The act of personhood 

is my most elaborate 
unfolding, precious and
meaningless, reflecting
profound delight 
that has no reason.

Life is my spilling over joy, 

and needs no one to be. 
The deep acceptance that I am 
splits cells and pushes them
onward to their destiny 
of appearing and disappearing.

I remain, pure, 

the cosmic smile,
watching Life move through me,
the fathomless mystery,
basking in the only ever now.