The waiting game

she watched her curls grow down to her breasts
she knows you'll be there when they reach the ground and the rest

never mind song

 my heart craves the company of a bit of the soul,
the soul, now divided, and once was whole.
But then I remember,
although I ofter forget,
the devil sings with craving, in a morbid duet.

Here is a piece of the web

There is the spider

diligently, she works on the web. 

When done, she lays on her work,

and watches it manifest into a tool of survival.  

Then, there are the insects her web traps 

They are the same size as the spider, 

the same matter,

the same mother, 

same direct creator and perceiver.

Their tools,
their perception,
 set them apart from the spider

because of this, they are blind and vulnerable to the web

How amusing that one creature's life is another's death.

yet they both ultimately exist to depend on each other.

The insects and the spider share eyes, for within the eyes hold the infinity of Existence

yet they carry perceptions which keep them apart -leading death to one and life to another.

Difference in perception is the gravity which allows 

the cycle to exist without end

o

death

life

death

life

o

Before the perception, is the awareness. 

before, after,
within and around
 the awareness are the black holes of creation
8
here lies infinite possibilities

for, as we have learned, all can be divided without end

Awareness,

needs not life, nor death for it just is

Content, without desire for movement

it is the pause between the inhale and exhale.

Then, there is the human, 

the perceiver of the spider, the spider's web and the trapped insects

I sit by the spider, watch it work, watch it's work come to life, 

finally, watch the trapping, struggle and death of the other insects.

I can study the web, it's patterns, and by it, understand the workings of 

Nature

Here I learn that the nature of all things work in pattern

the pattern is the skirt of Nature's creator

as I perceive Nature, I am also being perceived

the pattern 

the division

never ends

for around every circle, another can be drawn

The Great Transcendentalist Ralph Waldo Emerson writes,

THE EYE is the first circle; the horizon which it forms is the second; and throughout nature this primary picture is repeated without end. It is the highest emblem in the cipher of the world. [...] Our life is an apprenticeship to the truth that around every circle another can be drawn; that there is no end in nature, but every end is a beginning; that there is always another dawn risen on mid-noon, and under every deep a lower deep opens.

reflection

I Love You

-Mirror

whispered words

Something is missing. Something large and extraordinary
an organ is out of it's place
something is missing, something grande and absolute
it is lost in the space, lost in memory, lost in time
no longer tangible to the tangible mind


The parents I was born with are gone, alone I stand
Child of the Universe, in the palm of her hands
My mother is the wind, my father is the rain, my mother is the sun, my father is the moon, my mother is the light, my father is the shadow, my mother are the trees , my father is laughter, my mother is a trail, my father are the branches, my mother is a voice,
a voice
quiet, secret voice

whispering when

it's time to go,
it's time to stay


Perhaps what is missing is the matter to the mind.

inhale, exhale

The threshold for discomfort,
          is it ever-growing?
I ask in despair.
Then came down a rush of comfort, putting flowers in my hair.
A test written by the gods of challenge.
Undefinable purpose, nameless method, mysterious balance.
Enraging cheap hits, Exhausting deep cuts
Soothing lavender sunsets, Relaxing eyes shut.



I walk, I walk, I walk, looking down at the foot ahead
Hungry and tired, it seems such a dread
The hill mountain I climb grows higher and high
It won't stop growing until the day I die