Us perhaps the dreamers not knowing we’re dreaming.
Except now awake and aware.
Reality the taste of grass in the morning.
With the flowering at dawn and the withering at dusk.
The life cycle of the moon the earth beating in time.
Having no identity or distinction ghosts in the sunlight.
Communing in mind and form without thought or effort.
Just our warm recesses serving as teachers.
The language of subtle stallions and gentle mares.
The silent symphony of the herd.
Hedonism is Underrated 