A freedom away from self and thought

And there it is

When the not is actually not
And no music has lyrics
And no words are words

But instead you are free
Unseen as a meadow which wakes
To a rusting wind unheard by man

You are free of self
You are free of touch
You are free of even the beneathness of land

Like the sky you are above
Like the last breath you are at hand
But unnoticed as in and then out all the same

You are free of the awareness
Which is the most subtle form of this
Ever human pain

And there it is at last the same