Updated: Jan 9, 2022
I want to be the empty hanging frame
and the wall.
The blue missing in a gray day.
I want to be the point of twilight
where the entire world vanishes.
The finger that converses with
the petal of a flower. Spilled salt
and nearly empty dishes.
I want to be the photograph that is
out of focus but compelling, none-the-less.
Cosmic image of cosmic Self.
I want to be buried with the bones
of the native's feast, and rubbed along
the hot embers of a dying campfire
only to return and do it all again.
The little, the hard, the big of it all...
The rock, the chair, the black hole and stars are all a part of me just as I am made up of all the eons that have come before - the mosquito, the vibration of thunder and all things are connected. I share the spirit of the river stone and the bodhisattva alike.
Time is the only resource that matters.
Once upon, one at a, in the nick of, a measure of a moment,
a moment worth measure and on and on the river flows.
There's an undeniable sense that we are missing a vital variable
in the equation... we always seem to be running out of time.
Never enough as existence remains always fleeting
up til the moment of close.
Time is elusive. It defines our entire perception, but seemingly only
through the architecture of our pasts and the blueprints for our futures.
There is (in our minds) no room for the present.
The "Here and Now" is rarely an active force in our daily lives.
We are powered by what lays in front of us and the littered trail we leave behind us, but what of that which should be most precious of all -
the very moment we are living,
the magic of true freedom is buried in the seed
of being in this instant and only this instant.