Many folk express the longing to be able to draw or paint some-thing. They long to faithfully render a beloved face, or a favorite object, or the marvel of a landscape. Or, with the plethora of photographic devices now available, they eagerly capture moments both miraculous and mundane.
Might this have something to do with our innate longing for seamless intimacy with that apparent object or experience, with longing to know it, to be it, on the other side of conceptualization, categorizing, labeling?
nothing that can be contained, it flows and ebbs;
calls itself perception or consciousness or awareness
or life or grace or destiny or God
the ‘ten thousand things’ are its toys –
its appearances rising and falling
wherever It casts its sensory antennae
is it not the ultimate