It’s a sobering moment
when all of one's insecurities are revealed,
as you watch the fruit of your past self
ripen and spoil on the vine of realization;
both the sour and the sweet;
together they rot.
Alas, it’s because I reminisce;
I sit and idly watch my old self die,
passionately detached, yet curious,
as it withers away into the nothingness
from whence it first arose.
And how peculiar it seems.
Sure, a final few shadows-of-self
may still grasp and cling
to the clarity of awareness
that now tries to abide;
(I once so feverishly defended)
don't want to die;
but they too will soon dissolve
—it’s only a matter of time.
when denied of any attention;
this I know to be true.
So the me that still remains,
grieves the me
that’s now all but gone.
But it's a shallow grief,
and one I surely shall not fret;
after all, it's only over
a silly misperceived belief,
and not for anything that was ever actually real.
The initial shock of the loss-of-self
will soon fade like an echo,
vanishing into the nothingness of mind
(the empty space the ego once claimed as all its own).
It's hard to grieve the loss of nothing,
of a something that was only imagined;
but it takes much more energy to maintain
that which isn’t there,
than to simply let go of the illusion entirely.
Apparitions of mind, no more.
I will perpetuate no more lies.
Everything that once mattered,
matters no more.
Nothing is no longer necessary,
any pretence can now be dropped.
I no longer exist;
the me I once thought I was,
was never really there.
The person in the mirror,
the entire idea,
is now all but gone.
By the light of my awareness,
I illuminate all that is true!
Illusions may disappear,
but when the self dies,
the truth will always remain
—and I am still right here.