The Cloud

I watch a cloud floating in a vast blue sky, a wispy thing.  It moves slowly, going from nowhere to nowhere.

Though it has shape and form, and one could point to it with a likeness of some thing, it does not know it.  It has no entanglements with itself.

The cloud sees no separation between itself and other clouds.  It exists pure, and as part of the sky that envelops it.

Once it was massive, full of itself, voluminous and proud.  But one day it saw that it never had the same shape in any given moment.  If what it took to be itself was so malleable, then was it even real?  That day it released, shedding tears of rain.

Since that day, it learned to simply be.  Still changing but now without resistance.  Every variation in the moment is a celebration.

And yet even that wispy silhouette begins to wane.  Abiding in the flow of change, the form begins to melt in the infinity formless blue.  Still there but now unseen, it dissolves into pure beingness.