The pure subjective doesn’t know
itself—as there is no it
to know. There is no Mars or Venus,
no Earth or Moon or Sun, no Big Bang
to speak about, no words at all.
This universe of names exists
within intent of that subjective
self to know that self. That’s all.
The light becomes material;
material evolves to see
it is the light. And what we call
this world of suffering is just
the last throes of an object in
its education there’s no object.
This is the point of space and
time,
all necessary for one rhyme.
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