"Impersonally personal pure being" N.M.
This is what we must resort to in attempting to convey the ineffable. It is what we are left with after every trace of the mental or the physical are cast off as mirage: effulgent emptiness. I abide as inchoate portal between the unmanifest and the manifest. Time is a joke we have played on ourselves like children conjuring rules for a game. Impersonally personal pure being is not nonsense, it is no sense, neither mental or physical; it is timeless, spaceless, encompassing and pervading all in one. Life really gains some breathing room once the walls of the little big man finally cave in. And you abide there this very second - it's just obscured by the hubbub of body-mind. Turn away from it.
On summer nights
We caught lightning bugs
Beneath the honeysuckle hedge.
Memory is presence photographed and stored.
No comments:
Post a Comment