Hey Old Man, look at you — sitting and daydreaming,
gazing out into empty space as if something new
might appear, something not seen before.
Your tea has grown cold in its cup
while you just stare and stare.
Did you imagine that you’re here to be entertained?
If so, have you been enjoying the show?
How much of it have you already forgotten,
and how much more is destined to evaporate,
as if it never really happened at all?
You babble on about “love beyond conception”,
but what good has that ever done anyone —
a loose tongue flapping in the void?
Empty of any solidity, you still stumble about
as if there was an objective world that you could
juggle to achieve some measure of control,
although by now you might just wonder:
“to what end?”
Maybe you are a little mad, or even more than a little.
Anything can happen in a dream, but what will be
when you’ve finally had enough of dreaming?
Perhaps at last you will be done with every fascination.
You will be done with all absorbing self-meditation.
You will finally be done with obsessively
exploiting the menu of experience.
You will relax and leave your body alone.
You will let go and leave your mind alone.
You will leave things just as they are,
because there is no other option
that makes any sense.
Nothing to claim, to grasp, to own.
Nothing to fear, avoid, or resist.
There will be nowhere to fixate an identity
because no identity will adhere to empty space.
That empty space is full of grace.
Here is your original face: