No Final Witness

No final witness:

and not to find myself as any final witness, one more stage that needs to be let go — it’s all much too seamless for this, direct, that it’s simply life in current participation, aware, and without separate observation.

one thing.

really, I’m without explanation, poetry failed in any true reveal — mystery always escapes description and what I come to tell is of experience alone. It won’t truly be captured through words. Of course nothing ever is, and that’s the tragic beauty of every writers effort.

but there’s grace in trying.

so, here’s my effort — that at a certain point of contemplation there seems to be a witness to the world, an observer thought to be removed from what’s observed. It’s only a degree of separation, a belief that perhaps I’m at the level of soul, a certain mystic point of view. It’s a wonderful place to be, finding myself in but not of the world. I’ve reached one more level of my spiritual education, an achievement of a certain goal.

awake at last.

yet there is no final witness, indeed, no witness here at all. It’s only one more point in my surrender, a concept so thinly veiled it almost escapes detection, believed to the absolute of pure awareness. But even this comes to be let go, and through no effort of my own. I am not…