Some days At times I feel feeble, an urge to be invisible To crawl inside a thimble and play solitaire. Other days I diffuse, into every part of a room Like yesterday’s memories still lingering. Listening to bird song seems to help me forget my self, if only momentarily. A forgetting that is neither destructive nor il
lusionary, like focusing on still water and allowing the rest of the world to be erased. If these eyes are a window into truths of my personal perception, how different is my experience from yours? Some days, when the inner chatter dissipates, its as if my experience is immersed in effulgence Vibrancy of this soft yet angular reality becomes sensually intriguing, captivating, like an invitation to merge with the void, again. At times I feel comfortably insignificant, an urge to be nothingness. To release identity, reconfiguring the networks that synthesize “I”. Other days I expand, breathing wordless messages of love to anyone, and every thing in this presence. Enjoying the congruency of time in my own shoes, and wearing colored laces...
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