It's impossibly complex,
This dance of formlessness in form;
Full of contradictions that are simply impossible,
And yet… so.
The Beloved is in my Heart,
Whether this body sits in a drab, grey cubicle,
Or stands on a glorious beach.
She neither increases nor diminishes
In either place,
For Her Radiance is beyond conditionality.
To speak dualistically,
She lives in the so-called "inner" world,
Concurrent with the so-called "outer".
How do both exist at once, seamlessly?
I've no idea,
No mind for such complexities.
While Fullness and Completion reign, “inwardly”,
Preferences, propensities, and proclivities exist
I prefer lofty clouds, soft sand,
And the vastness of the beach,
To the drab, grey cubicle.
But the Beloved...
Knows nothing of these differences.
She is in my Heart, Always,
In Her Secret Garden where Inner and outer,
Have never, ever existed.
There is no need to move,
From here, to there,
To do this, or not do that.
Within and As
I prefer this to that.