Eternal Waves

A plain canvas—or paint?
A white peacock, or a rainbow one?
Is it the Mona Lisa,
or an unpainted soul?

No good, no bad.
No past, no prospect.
Only the essence of now—
timelessness.

The perfection lost,
the paradox of
an eternal conatus
toward eternity.

Consciousness feels individual,
but it is an optical illusion—
branches of the same tree.