In the vastness of Being, a story unfolds, Of a seeker, a self, and truths untold. Ripples on water, thoughts in the mind, A separate self, the seeker hopes to find.

But lo! This very search creates the illusion, Of a ‘me’ apart, in endless confusion. For what is sought is not afar, But here, now, in all that you are.

The lake of consciousness, still and deep, Undisturbed by waves that leap. Yet the seeker strives to calm the surface, Unaware of the depths’ silent purpose.

Time, a thought; the past, a dream, The future, a hope; not what they seem. Only Now exists, eternal and true, In which all things arise anew.

Who awakens? There’s no one there, Just the falling away of a thought in air. The illusion recognizes its own face, And dissolves in awareness’s embrace.

Practice, surrender, both the same game, Reinforcing the player’s illusory name. But when exhaustion claims its due, The search may end, the false untrue.

What remains when seeking ceases? Just This, as all else releases. No thing to grasp, no state to know, Just Being’s ever-present flow.

The eye can’t see itself, they say, Yet vision happens anyway. So too, your nature, ever near, Is That which knows, yet can’t appear.

In the end, where is the start? No journey made, no seeker’s part. The cosmic joke at last revealed: You are the truth you hoped to yield.

So rest, dear one, in what’s always here, No need to seek, no need to fear. In every wave, the whole ocean swells, In every thought, pure awareness dwells.