The mind knows about so much,
So much about what things are like.
Liking to compare and categorise and name and order,
Bringing order to the chaos it perceives through the senses,
It's intent on making sense of experience.
Experiencing confusion in its absence
And confusing making sense with knowing,
Oh so rarely does the mind know that, really,
It can only ever know about.
The knowing of the body is quite distinct
To this knowing about of the mind.
For the knowing of the body is experience;
The raw, unfiltered, holistic experience of that which is.
The mind can do nought but interpret that which it perceives,
Distorted by perspective;
That murky lens,
Warped and pitted by the very nature of mind.
The mind's interpretations,
When put to word,
Are further twisted by linguistic paradigm,
Then fettered by the very nature of word.
Hence, so very, very often
Is the knowing about of mind
So very, very far removed from that which is.
And all the while,
The body is knowing that which is,
As raw, unfiltered, holistic experience.
If you truly intend to know,
Rather than blindly know about,
Free yourself from its rule;
Recognise mind as but a tool
To be used as and when you choose.
Liberate consciousness from that lofty citadel,
So often its gaoler and gaol.
Let awareness descend,
That it know the body.
That it know the knowing of the body.
That it know the raw, unfiltered, holistic experience of that which is.