The Ineffable Words have failed many,
And I,
Who wield them not,
Surely they are going to fail,
But trusting the silence that speaks through them,
I write.
Not to grasp the ungraspable,
Not to define the undefinable,
But to bow in reverence to that Which is beyond speech,
Thought,
And the thinker.
What ink can stain the stainless?
What tongue can shape the shapeless?
What words can carry the wordless?
The great ones say it is love.
Not love opposed to hate.
Not love that clings or separates.
Like the sun that needs no night to know its bleach,
But love,
And only love,
That simply is.
It is bliss.
Not joy that fears sorrow.
Not like the moon which waxes and wanes,
But bliss untouched,
Unopposed.
A quiet joy that has no reason and no end.
It is peace.
Not the fleeting pause between noise.
Not like empty absence which dilutes the mind,
But the silence from which all arise,
And into which all subsides.
It is truth.
Not the truth that shifts with time,
But the light in which both illusion and reality shine.
It is you.
Not the name,
The story,
The shape.
Not the fame and praise,
Or the thoughts entertained.
But behind seer and the seen.
The witness which no thought can taint.
And it is I.
When all that is not I has been seen through.
When even the one who seeks is falsified,
And only moving stillness abides.
May I melt into that.
May I melt into that infinite,
For which words betray.
Knowing it cannot be reached,
Still I reach.
And in that reaching,
I be lost in that ineffable,
Quietly,
Effortlessly,
Entirely,
And forever.
Namaste