Death of the ego

Where do we go if we don't exist?

Can this be true?

Is there something i missed?

How can something which has no form

Move through a world bound in a norm?

If i know nothing and nothing is me..

How do i know that i could be free?

The death of the self..

Is a prison it seems..

Bound by nothing by infinite seams.

To observe the red tape

As it becomes but a string..

Oh what a wonderous, curious thing...

If nothingness is, then what is this place?

It appears to exist... It persists in this space.

The illusion has chosen to continue to be...

So if i am nothing, how could this be?

The mystery it seems, is misery to me...

The question but a splinter,

The answer elludes me...

Is this all that there truly is?

An endless nothingness..

An infinite abyss?

Experience proves there is something more.

Something still hidden behind a lit door.

I am the light that lumens its face,

I am the frame which upon it i trace.

I am the pallet, the sound that we hear.

I am the door and i am right here.

There is no staircase..

No above or below..

There is nothing to reap,

There is nothing to sew..

Nothing can be lost..

Not a thing can we gain..

We are what we are..

Both pleasure and pain.

We are the sunshine

We are the rain.

We are the rainbow..

We are the drain..

There is no other..

There is only we.

We are the infinite..

We are the free...

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