! ! A Blank Page For The Self

‘About the Self, dear seeker, nothing can be said..’ say the bright-eyed sages with a chuckle and a wink; a chuckle and a wink.. granting, later, that if you can spare the timeless time, you could start listing (for your self-same self) that which Self is not.. well I’m not satisfied with that.. I’m going to start a list for you yourself to add to, of those times when… so, so nearly… you almost, almost, saw yourself - (when of course, not looking for yourself…) as you passed that mirror in the cloakroom, the shopwindow that’s been newly washed; looked into the rockpool, in your childhood’s waking dream.. when you hear – not the first note, but the second, of some Mozart piece: and something tells you that the mind that knew what chord must follow from the first has heard, has known, its self; the moment that the playful wind makes plastic bag into a jellyfish; just as you see a kite tail-twisting over the rooftops; before you wonder whether there’s a string; just as a taste you never met before meets several places in your mouth at once; the moment that the scent of summer field is sweeter to the nose than any flower; these, like messages to say, you’ll never catch me; but you’ll know that I’m around.. And now I’ll leave the remainder of this page for you to add to; or to rest blank, as the remainder that is perfect evermore; or for you to gaze some moments at… contented; asking nothing when there’s nothing left to ask; knowing that you know your present self.. and need to know no more right now; yet know that there, beyond, is where all stillness smiles.