These forms we seem to be are cups floating in an ocean of living consciousness.
They fill and sink without leaving an arc of bubbles or any good-bye spray.
What we ‘are’ is that ocean, too near to see, though we swim in it and drink it in.
Don’t be a cup with a dry rim,
or someone who rides all night and never knows the horse beneath his thighs, the surging that carries him along.
aditi premankit 