The Maya of Maya Too

Nothing to be gained,
nothing to be cast away.
What can be grasped,
what cannot be grasped—
all is maya;
even—that maya is not.

Neither being,
nor non-being.
Neither knowledge,
nor ignorance.
Neither creation,
nor destruction.
Even—these are not.

When "I" is absent there remains
no center,
no edge;
no within,
no without;
even—this division of within and without.

When I stir,
forms are born,
phenomena surface.
When I am still,
all dissolves
into my groundless ground.
Nothing remains there—
even—that very nothingness.

No mind,
no word,
no thought.
No truth,
no untruth.
No void,
no beyond-void—
even—not that declaration of "no."

This is not philosophy,
this is not doctrine,
this is no teaching.
This is only the nakedness of presence,
which blazes forth
without cause.
Which vanishes
without dissolution—
even—leaving no trace of the difference between being and not-being.

I am the source of creation,
yet I am not created.
I am the end of destruction,
yet I am not destruction.
When I merge,
I merge completely.
What remains—
is not anything—
not this, not that either.