there is self, there is an I,
all there is is me myself and I,
there is no escape there is no other,
there is no place that holds the father
the nature of the self is empty,
yet emptiness is infinite,
and all encompassing,
and the nature of self fills the empty,
with the self, the games, the tempting,
IMAGINATION is all we need,
as whisper flows in ears that hear,
IMAGINATION is all we have,
and the origins of it swell all forms we have on hand,
the brain, the soul, the psyche, the desire,
the consciousness, the god, the light, the fire,
the believe is the only verb that matters in
the dwelling soup of matter
Living in the world of forms, emerging from each other,
Where each is projection of a self of the other,
Dwelling to infinity, but fearful of temporality,
Emotions overwhelm they swell experience,
We wish to be free but inconsistent,
And presence gives joy, but time praises effort,
And we live in dual selves of acceptance and resentment
Accepting enough to wake and exist, but resenting to fully persist
all experience turns to dust,
as the shell of all matter does,
all that you hold, is non existent lust,
for things that ceased and to let go you must
to be free from the constraints of your physicality,
see through the all encompassing duality,
where left is right depending from which side,
and there are those who believe
in the better good though grief.
Inspired by half an hour of freedom from motherhood.
swells in times of repair
nags the wind
the moment is coming when you will sing.
The faint distance likens itself to that of troubled youthful spell
excruding liquid quiet smell .
Sweet sound of silence equals love
for one who stands above all matters
in trembled absence of the hum
that speaks in nonsense letters .
Notice each crack
each subtle move
each glance of those that don’t undo.
in quiet self
that’s rare in those times of wealth.