living wood1

Do I cease to exist if I am not seen,

Like a tree in a forest that makes no sound

Unless it is heard when it falls?

Do I exist in the mirror when I look,

An illusory glimpse into a framed reality

That is not real?

Viewer or image, who can say

Where reality resides

Or if we are but dreaming?

Is my life a mere illusion of the soul

Or perhaps a whispered image

In the mind of God?

Or is illusion’s self the fount,

Imagined solidity

Becoming real with every heartbeat?

If I am forgotten, was I ever there?

Did I leave my trace upon a world

Whose reality I question

Or was I just a zephyr

In the cosmic night

Whispered to the stars

By voiceless lips…

Or did I touch your heart?

living stone

About Sue Vincent

Sue Vincent is a Yorkshire-born writer and one of the Directors of The Silent Eye, a modern Mystery School. She writes alone and with Stuart France, exploring ancient myths, the mysterious landscape of Albion and the inner journey of the soul. Find out more at France and Vincent. She is owned by a small dog who also blogs. Follow her at scvincent.com and on Twitter @SCVincent. Find her books on Goodreads and follow her on Amazon worldwide to find out about new releases and offers. Email: findme@scvincent.com.
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21 Responses to Māyā

  1. Pingback: Māyā — Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo – The 307

  2. Lyn Horner says:

    Makes me wonder why I chase recognition as an author. Is it simply because I want to leave “my mark” on the world when I’m dead and gone? Very thought provoking!

    Liked by 2 people

  3. willowdot21 says:

    I like this Sue, the illustrations are perfect, did you draw them .💜

    Liked by 2 people

  4. The Militant Negro says:

    Reblogged this on The Militant Negro™.


  5. rivrvlogr says:

    Each time this is read, you are here. Always, in fact, your words having touched the hearts of many over the years.

    Liked by 2 people

  6. Beautiful images and words.

    Liked by 2 people

  7. jenanita01 says:

    This is a lot of things to ponder over today, with snowflakes gently falling past my window and the cold increasing. If I turn into a block of ice, would it be proof of my fleeting existence?


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