just this, just here, just now
Just this, just here, just now. There is nothing else. There is nowhere else. There is nothing more. This is all.
All the seeking, all the words, the journey, the lies and the truths, the visions, all point back to just this, just here, just now.
Convincing me or coercing you has no meaning. Negating all else fails, I can just breath, simple, free and the light is switched on, the echo is dimmed, the fabric is torn and then mended again and again, just this, just here, just now.
Grande discourses on existential blissing out moves me further away and many miracles linger obsessing again and again, furtive reconnections with paradise gained and regained.
Dancer or human, both and neither, sameness and itsy bitsy differentiation or a method to maneuver mournfully away from the mess I have created and you have swallowed, the red pill or was it blue?
Commandment? Nope! Visage? So what! Italics, a bold cavern of labels and tears, jumbled together into a nightmare of trying to expect IT to happen but no way, the buck stops here: just this, just here, just now.
Are we done now, or undone? Yes, that is closer to the glory: undone but not undead. Will to go on, looking under wraps, ropes and rips and avoiding all the whips and wisps of gentle beckoning-just do it man!
I am the Way,
just This, I am the Truth, just Here, I am the Life, just Now. I Am. Are