This Book is written by Arthur Osborne.
That consciousness am I, that Vast Expanse
Of pure serene, that One without a form—
Not even One but Am-ness undefined.
No questions there, no doctrine and no doubt,
Knowledge not known but lived, the clamorous mind
Grown still at last, beyond the stir of time.
From that untroubled state, funnelled below,
Far down, less real, a pseudo-world of forms
Seen or imagined, like a waking dream.
In truth change is not; all in essence IS.
The bubbles on the Ocean do not change
The depths profound. Far off the tinkling notes
Of weal and woe float by upon the breeze,
Heard but not heeded in the Calm supreme
Of Bliss ineffable, pure causeless Bliss
Wherein the worlds have birth. And That I am.