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Jayaji Jan 16
The true artist does not paint pictures,
the true artists lends themselves to be and become
a paintbrush in the mysterious hand
of life.

The true musician does not play an instrument
but allows that self to be an instrument played
by the breathing space that encircles
all things.

In this way my darling
there is nothing you need to do,
or seek, or find, or become.

No fireworks, no flashing lights,
no grand awakening to understand
that you are not creative,
you are creation.

In this way my darling, wisdom
is the opening into that very vastness,
to be contained by that which has no edge,
and there find, there is no center.

It is to contemplate the Great
Mystery, and at the same time find
the Great Mystery contemplating
you.
Jayaji Jan 16
Run after yourself.
Chase your own tail.

Catch that which cannot be caught.
Turn towards your own self,
and find that which does not turn. 

When will you see
the walls you *****
around your own heart
keep you imprisoned 
captive by belief? 

In setting the mind free
the heart soars. 
When the heart soars
there are no use for walls. 

What mast can I cast 
a rope towards 
to open the sails
in a windless sea?

To what dock can I stop
and secure a ship 
that is in the middle 
of the ocean? 

What ground can I lay
foot on when everything
is shimmering beneath me? 

This mind is like a bird
without branch to rest. 
Where then does one 
take refuge?
Aaron Feb 2019
If you were in a cage, and you knew,
What would you choose to do?
It seems that maybe that's the key -
The only way to be free is to learn to play,
because even searching for the exit is just another way
To get caught up in the plot and grime and crust
An inevitability - maybe there's no way to be clean
And trying not to play is just the same old game
Biting our own hands doesn't make us any less tame
Because these are the colors we're meant to spark;
You can't steal the song from the throat of the lark
because it's meant to be sung and shared and put on display;
If my life is just a splash of color against the gray,
Well that's okay -
I don't need a time share on eternity to have a life well lived
All I have, I freely give.
This poem can stand alone, but is actually the second part of a bigger poem (also because I'm me I wrote this second part first)
Looking out of this open space,
bizarrely, I find I’ve no face!
When I point to myself,
there’s no “man in good health,”
but a finger, pointing to no place.
See http://www.headless.org for more information.

— The End —