Poetry {169} ~ ZEN MUSINGS {1}

What if you unearthed that the puppet master was just an entanglement of am amalgamation of other puppets?

Interconnectedness is paramount to who we are, to life itself

To get loose and scurry to cut the strings is not to get free, to get free is to love the strings you borrow


I have the eye’s of god

Both you and me

Our eyes are blind

But through god we see

I see myself run after myself in a torment of circular motion

Chasing my own tail

In the rear window of the doorways to my soul


Catch that which cannot be caught

Turn towards your own self, and find that which does not turn

What mast can I cast a rope towards 
to open the sails in a windless transparent temporary sea?

To what dock can I pause and secure a ship that is in the middle of the ocean?

What foundation can I lay foot on when everything in existence is shimmering beneath me? 

Where am I when there are no thoughts?

Who am “I” when “I” am extinguished by the waters of the order and chaos dynamic dualistic flow

How can we comprehend the incomprehensible?


What if I gazed into infinity with a microscope and saw the back of my scalp?


The true artist of life does not paint pictures, the true artists lends themselves to be and become
a paintbrush in the mysterious hand
of life to be God’s pioneer


We contemplate the Great Mystery and at the same time find the Great Mystery contemplating us.

~DiosRaw, 15/09/21

5 thoughts on “Poetry {169} ~ ZEN MUSINGS {1}”

  1. //We contemplate the Great Mystery and at the same time find the Great Mystery contemplating us.//Simply amazingly musing zen reflection dear poet. Love it.
    Can we define the mysterious hand or the mystery with a predictable answer which is ‘time’ or ‘illusion’?
    Can we conclude that the real artist of life is the artist himself, the pure consciousness who has painted the mind into a depict and turned himself into a lively painting?
    Btw, looking forward to this upcoming series of zen poetry, dear Sir.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you Niyathy, appreciated. The mystery to me is Spirit, the formless which cannot be named ultimately, it could also be said to be illusion or maya yet is beyond it. The artist is a vessel for God to flow through and indeed, he has turned himself into a painting. ♥️

      Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s