
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.