The Precision of Feeling

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Even one thing
Taken to heart
Has unbearable depth.

The precision of feeling
Defeats all thinking
Reduces self to naught.

If in that moment
We ask, “Where am I?”
There is only one thing.

All the way down
The taste of reality
There is nothing there.

Each thing gives up
That which it is
In the desert.

Where before it ever was
Is or ever will be
Just there is everything.

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About Jamie Nicol

Living in the forested hills of Catalonia, overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. Zen teacher, recovering philosopher, small-scale natural farmer. Writing just what comes.
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