Our world is imagined.
Our world is a dream.

We are sleepwalkers, prisoners of a false reality
Fueled by Desire
Grasping after happiness
Caught in an unending cycle of being,
Believing the dream is tangible.
Wake Up!

Wake up.

See the Body, vanishing at Birth.
Unable to bear its own impermanence,
See that Body becoming nothing, a memory,
A forgotten image.

Our body belongs to others,
We are made to move, like stop-motion characters
Projections of light, flickering, shadows shifting
Bound to the screen, morphing into one
A flattened reality, the illusion of dimension
of space, of solidity.

Why must our Brain transmit Mind into a world with Matter?
Why must we play such a cruel game?
To be bound so and forced to travel on and on,
Incessantly, toward happiness that can never be found.
Why, when the present is nothing more than an
Accumulation of the past, ripening Karma?
The present body, evidence only of past lives?

Look around you!

Look around you and really see.
Look at your walls, your room,
The objects you’ve collected – Objects made by others.
Look within, to your mind, your thoughts, your words-
Words composed by others.
Your body – A shell made, used, disposed of by others.
There is no Self apart from Other
There is no Creator apart from Mind.
Our search for Self gave birth to this world.
This Self is a dream.

I am tired.
Let me sleep.
Let me wander in the Dream.
Relieve my Mind from Matter.

In a silent moment of meditation,
Driving in your car,
Walking down the street,
Do you suddenly become present?
Aware of the billions of Realities all around you,
Moving together with you,
Forming one flow,
Colliding, Birthing this world moment by moment,
And ask, What are we creating?
Where are we going?
Do you see others as they pass?
See them appear and then vanish?
Always moving, temporary, fleeting,
Mental continuums,
Transient beings traveling to nowhere.

Breathe stillness in this moving world.

How sad that we must be divided by body,
Separated by space,
Confined to a plane where Object and Other
Are perceived apart from Self.

Nothing is Real
Nothing is Still
Nothing Stays.

I am a foreigner in my own world,
An outsider acting as witness, waiting,
Longing to wake.
I feel my own skin, a strange shell,
Suffocating and small.
I see this world, unusual,
False and frightening.

I don’t belong here!
Please, Let me wake!

Let me wake.

Let my Mind wander freely,
Away from Body,
Away from Matter
No Longer Other
No Longer Self
Drifting as One
Together with All.