These writings come through a quiet listening.
They are often received rather than composed,
emerging from stillness, meditation, or sudden inner movement.
Each piece is a moment I’ve chosen to follow and write down.

“This is the paradox of expression.
It is not that words can contain the ineffable —
but they can point.
They can gesture beyond themselves.
They can open a subtle space in which something deeper is felt.
They can prepare the heart to receive what cannot be said.”

The Witness

I stand witness to myself
appearing as division.

I stand witness to myself
appearing as a whole.

I stand witness to cognition
and the grasp of reason,

to the waking “I”
and dreamer’s dream,

display of ternary
and plays between.

I veil myself
with cloth of Self,

while senses urge to fulfill,
not knowing who is really still.

I stand witness to myself,
Self alone,
and no one else.

Contained within to great extent,
perception guards a made-up fence.

Yet by measure and by move,
thoughts delude while I exclude

what is not true.
It is not Two.

I stand witness to a degree.
What is left,
“I” cannot be.

I Am That Which Is

You are the shining truth,
the ever-free essence,
the causeless cause.

What is there to unite?
Who is to meditate on something?
Does reality need a knower of it to exist?

I am neither without nor within—
for I am both,
as much as none.

I am neither dual
nor in unity.

You impose qualities,
but I am beyond impositions.

I walk naked.
I walk free.
No action is bound to me.

I do not enter realities—
I am all of reality.

One

Being empty of myself,
I am full in forgetting.

Free from another,
fixed viewing melts
in glistening sameness.

And the neurosis of this world
is swept into a
forth-blossoming current
of One.

Beneath Winter’s Soil

In the periphery
of this place,
a center appears.

One wakeful ray
has struck
beneath winter’s soil.

Totality’s crest
shines open
where the sound
is heard
and uttered.

The pulse is merged
in solitude,
and honey drips
as life
unborn.

The Heart of Awareness

Self-luminous, it has not arisen.
Being light itself, it contains all vision.

Being the source of all vision,
light and darkness,
color and form,
cannot describe it.

Being prior to language and sound,
it is silent before silence.
Therefore, language cannot describe it.

Though beginningless,
it contains all beginning and all ending.

Though containing everything,
it is empty of any content.

Between Solid Moments

Between solid moments
I find rest
in your beginning.

Melt
in knowing —
just to vanish
in
your being.

The Multitude of Singularity

I am the multitude of singularity

What rise and fall is the very same of all,

The I is porous, mind is free
Bind me not, let I be.

For nothing can enlighten me.
I never come I never go
I am that which only flow

These words are much conceptual
I am that where concept cannot go.

Beyond the Projection of Time

Movement, in an instant, to be seized
Nothing has a grip
And I am nowhere to be found.