Last Confession

A final destination is an anathema to the seeking soul

Shamballa a firing squad

To the surendered rebel leader

Eating his last ego meal

On the edge of annihilation

reading his will and last confession

In the winds' calligraphy

On the desert sands

There is no original sin

Its all derivative

Arising from the illusion

Of existence

I confess I have never really existed

In spite of this persistent illusion

Never having existed

nothing I ever did thought or felt

has left its mark on the

stainless void

When they come for me

Tell them I have already slipped

Back behind the curtain

Of eternal innocence

This is not poison

on my soul's lips

but the cure

I no longer want to be a boddhisattva

Or serve the greater good

These worthy goals seem pretentious now

The pre dawn dreams of a waking soul

A rock pool's brief kingdom

In the twelve hours between tides

I would only be that which

I cannot not be

My only purpose to have no purpose

Of my own

Let this individual life be

A small and simple thing

A grain of sand

Shaped by 51000 tides

glinting in the Gobi

Nothing more and nothing less

Than the living face of the universe

Let there be nothing left of me

Capable of trying to achieve anything

However holy

Let me rest

In emptiness

To go forth no more

And by remaining

Permeate it all

Forever