Mind is chewing and spitting out

that which it doubts.

Not because it is untruth

but because it undermines

the glamour of the ego.

It says: this is dull, boring,

devoid of fun.

But when these ideas

are held up to the light

and seen for what they are,

they vanish

like a puff of dust

because there is nothing there

but the dead skin

of the separate self.

And, beyond that,

a blanket of peace;

a canvas

on which all form,

all colour,

is splashed

and alive.

Not dull, not boring;

ever-present and open

to all expression,

without dismissive, judgemental thought.

The ego sees neutrality as boring

but in that hollow

is the infinite potential

of the moment

in all its splendour,

no matter how ordinary.