On the distant horizon, the thunderheads
are piling up like a cloud armageddon.
Rain would be welcome — a drenching
downpour — but all the best wishes
still won’t make it so.
Here in the baking valley heat,
nothing moves, save a vague hint
of an occasional hot breeze.
Somehow, it seems my eyes have left
my body, and are traveling on their own
through dreamland — silent observers
with no special agenda but to see.
From their impersonal vantage point,
nothing is good or bad, better or worse.
Without judgment, vision is clarified.
Everything is just as it is — changing
inexplicably like a kaleidoscope
of interconnected images.
In an astonishing feat of choreography,
nothing is independent from anything else —
when one thing changes, everything does.
Without any sense of regret or expectation,
these eyes are like twin mirrors, instantly
reflecting whatever happens or appears
with neither desire nor aversion.
Back here, in the withering summer heat,
the eyes have actually gone nowhere —
nothing is moving but the mind.
This amazing mind can’t see itself,
neither can it grasp itself, for there is
nothing to see or grasp, only one thought
following another in endless succession,
piling up like some cloud armageddon,
or traveling on through dreamland
with no special agenda but to be.