Still— it hovers like a cloud; a thinning cloud ever dissipating, so enlarging.
And that is all it is, rather is-not.
It is like nothing, nothing you can imagine if you cannot imagine it; now.
You cannot imagine now, it is— now.
So why, then?
You will, you do, but not… Yet— however that does not matter, this is timeless.
Timelessness is strange like that, to us.
You will see, I suppose.
What else could you do? You do nothing, like a sea…
Seeing— you do not know what you see, yet still… You see.
It does not lessen anything, it does not increase it.
It rise and fall; a wave of heart beats, hovering in the clear stillness it does proceed. Fading and appearing, it is the same light— always.
The clear time of your mind, the invisible heart.
Living, dying— art.
It needs no name, being.
Do not worry, you can go — nowhere.
It is different, but this difference is the familiarity of an undefinable awareness which is not based on anything, but itself— which happens to be everything & nothing, which is something else altogether…
All I can say about such a non-state is, this.
It is the point which contains all point(s).
What would such a point be like?
It is no different from any of the, other points…
What is size or time to such a point? To any of them?
This is the memory, of a moment…
Not any different, except that it exists in timelessness as non-existent; existence.
It is just another point, but somehow this point sees, it is a point— a moment.
I guess this is all I can say about it, there is no way to make a point.
It is all there is.