While contemplating boats upon the river being put away like
little toy things at the end of summer play,
I see a falling leaf fall on my folded hands and feel its
weather-beaten revelations.
Universal consciousness is like a tree and every
insect-riddled sunburnt leaf is just another apparatus cast away in time
making way for its replacement, next spring's gold device
continuing the amplifying of awareness in the ground of Buddha nature.
I Am is what I truly am; this body-mind is just another
leaf that obsoletes with time, no need imagining some narrative device like death
to tell its story. Trees themselves are speaking truth
and beauty in a shimmering October morning glory.
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