Everything that is.

Belongs.

Its very existence.

Is its validity.

This.

Is one Song.

The melody can be heard.

In the tap tap of raindrops on the gutter.

In the wind whistling down the back alley.

In the beeping of the garbage truck as it reverses.

And in the beating of your heart.

Sitting quietly.

Making no effort.

Life happens.

All by itself.

One thousand stars.

Overhead.

I awaken.

To fresh snow.

Ultimate Reality.

Encompasses all that is.

Even.

Identification.

As a separate.

Independently existing.

Self.

When there isn’t one.

Dark clouds.

Come rolling in.

Rain on the window.

Thoughts of sunnier days.

I sit quietly in my little boat.

Oars relaxed in my hands.

Bobbing up and down gently.

As the sun drops behind the mountains.

I am carried on the waves.

Sky above.

Great wind.

-Ryokan

The broken puppet.

Is God.

You spent your time searching.

For a treasure.

When all the time.

You were the Treasure.

You are the Treasure.

Life is the Treasure.

This is the Treasure.

This.