Relaxing the eyes from the burden of seeing
what exists as separate
cannot stand
without our constant attention
                thinking of it
the body like a tide
the ebbing and flowing of respiration
the subject which sees
the object which knows
under the tide of ease
the sinking back into
      away from 
the constant building
                holding up

the illusion of
the one that is me
Are we seeing through a me?
or are we the seeing
      the seeing
as we gaze upon our creation
full and spacious
Tapping into the expanse
from which construction is made
contorting itself
in and out
furrowed, curled
twisted about
impressions made within it
vanish as fast as they come
so what remains?
The horizon
the groundless ground
the joy of all 
As we venture into the waters
full of our own being, 
delighted, afraid, 
all is welcome;
in stillness 
as the waves rock above
in and out
in and out

Finding Mom
Erica, O Erica