Am I not the sky?

What is this division?
Nothing, but Absurd.

Wherefrom does it come?

Where am I?
Am I not the sky?
Am I not the stream?
Am I not the forest?
Am I not the stars?
Am I not the Sun?
Grounded in the Earth,
Flying in the Heavens?
Of course! And full of mirth.
The mountains and wildflowers gave me birth!
And whose mother is not my very own?

One ever-present manifold purely flowing,
This oceanic infinitude, ever-knowing,
From which perception arises,
But of which only probability comprises,
A holograph, balanced to naught,
Of energy, of light, An undivided current flows,
Gathering towards, within it goes,
The mind turned inside out,
Expanded to the outer limits,
Yet delved deep.

The boundaries, the structures, the edifice is gone;
I am that.