Dissolving the Self
In the quiet pull of unseen streams,
The essence shifts, unbound by seams.
No form is fixed, no truth is whole,
The waters whisper: let go, unfold.
What is the self but a transient hue,
A fleeting echo in the infinite blue?
We cling to shapes, to names, to years,
Yet meaning dissolves in the flow of fears.
There is no end, no single start,
Only the rhythm of a beating heart—
A heart that pulses not with time,
But with the eternal, the vast, the sublime.
To vanish, to merge, to simply be,
A fragment of light in eternity’s sea.
This is the lesson the stillness imparts:
We are the void, the water, the art.