Physical space is mystical.
Existence is transcendence.
The afterlife is now.
And the universe is not something that can be talked about.
Who is this I?
Nobody and nothing.
There is no Way.
There is no end to illusions,
nor to being stripped of illusions.
No end to the barren universe,
the blazing poppy,
the blue echoes of cold mountains
in an unrelenting sky.
This is just This.
As it is!
Wonder!
Nobody has Awareness.
Everybody just is it,
nakedly, and so
there is nothing to do
and as for the dream
you have already awakened.
No-dreamer dreaming nothing!
If you say Ki is other
than the Sky,
that is a duality
which is mere illusion.
Everything is just This.
It is, it is, it is.
It is seen, it is seen, it is seen.
It is heard, it is heard, it is heard!
It is Seeing! It is Hearing!
Cut away all thoughts,
and live the empty bliss!
In the empty Sky
all the colors ever seen
and sounds ever heard
occur vibrantly,
radiating countless mysterious echoes.
A bird suddenly sang
up there in the depths
of the Great Branching Pine --
in the vivid depths
of clear blue space!
Or did it sing
inside my chest?
Voidness! The seal of great bliss.
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