Immanent yet transcendent
The charm of the moon makes vast oceans swoon,
elliptical orbits causing mood swings,
save in few detached souls who are immune,
there being nothing to which their heart clings.
The void of cessation is always still,
akin to a leopard before it leaps,
joyous dewdrops of rain clouds poised to spill,
as boons of grace, which in time our soul reaps.
There is nothing to say, much less to do,
magic of magnetism making ingress,
illumining our aura, each hue new,
wherein breath by breath we slowly undress.
To consciousness pure housed in heart demure ~
This world of names and forms holds no allure
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