The dark, warm taste of a fresh brew,
the chair beneath you, impossibly solid,
the damp morning, perfumed with rain,
the momentary yearning for one more day
of sunshine.

Only you can know.

The love, pain, and confusion,
the longing for what can never be,
the struggle to be real in a changing dream,
the tactile meanings hidden in being.

Only you can know.

A gently rising mood, nothing to do,
no past or future to disturb you,
pale light from a soft screen
brighter than the sun.

Only you can know
what it’s like to be you.

For another will say it’s not so.
That it’s an uncomfortable seat on airplane,
the chattering voices of traveling strangers,
and memorizing a presentation due later that day.

Another will say it’s a traffic jam,
or another day of school,
a sip of midnight wine
with feet floating in a pool.

Some will say it’s a newborn,
others that it’s old age,
some say it’s an open field,
others a tiny cage.

Do you see?
There’s not a second situation,
only a second set of eyes.

Buddha is just what appears before you,
so only you can know.

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