I look in the mirror,
It’s plain as can be.
Staring back is a puzzle,
The mystery of me.
What is the self?
A clever illusion?
Scholarly debates,
Result in confusion.
Matter is real,
All that there is.
Spirit is false,
The imagination of kids.
Focus on facts,
What’s measured and solid.
But facts can be changed,
Rewritten and squandered!
If Spirit is false,
Then what is the point?
Beauty, Love, Life,
To me they are joined!
To focus only on matter,
Brings only death.
Life cannot be measured,
With width, height or depth.
But if you sit still,
For a long enough time,
You’ll notice a presence,
Emanating inside.
This presence is gentle,
With no expectations.
Allow it to stay,
Feel its sensations.
This sensation is old,
Ancient, yet familiar.
It is warm like a blanket,
Yet strong like a pillar.
As I reflect in the mirror,
And ponder myself,
I let out a sigh,
I’m afraid I can’t help.
Somethings are beyond,
Our own comprehension.
For now I’ll sit still,
And give my Spirit attention.
