not even this

 

not even this

 

 

there is just an apparent 

seamless flow of experience, 

it needs no one to explain or interpret it 

or do anything at all, 

for you are it, inseparable, 

a spun web of unbroken wonderment 

imagining there is a way to say 

what will never be spoken.

 

and every beautifully futile effort 

is where the heart of love 

bleeds us all into being, 

and words or no words 

only silence remains, 

echoing like a symphony into the forest 

where seekers hike in search 

of the never lost or found, 

imagining they can feel the emptiness 

they have named and turned into a thing...

 

and one surreal afternoon 

after the birth of language,

humanity invoked the world 

into apparent existence 

with innocent prayers, 

like children playing with hand grenades, 

turning shapeless forms and intangible sensations 

into separate objects and concepts and people

and a never-land world 

dancing in its own reflection 

being not this

and not that

and not even everything

or nothing at all 

 

💖💖💖