It was a moment of silent spaciousness. In the midst of a fight, there was no enemy -- just the effortless dance of the thing. That moment expanded to the infinite, & snapped back to one tick after the tock. Since then, no catastrophe has felt too great for a smile.
ideas accelerate to the surface like air bubbles from whence they came, i cannot say they passed up from below the lit sea from the darkness maybe, like air bubbles, they follow a mostly straight path, but i cannot say for certain what happens below the light i catch only the vapor that drifts up out of the popping bubbles and it must be gathered quickly before it spreads on the wind, becoming lukewarm nothing... damn increasing entropy!
Plunging into darkness, there is no other way. In the tomb-like silence, the mind begins to stray. To roam, to roam, to roam, or does it simply sink; with neither light nor eyes, one might just be hoodwinked.
My war days are long past. I'm not quick to beat drums. I've neither king nor caste. I've seen the winter come. Fearful norms have no hold. The law has lost its sway. I've broken from the mold, and turned a roving stray. Crazy sages / role models: those freed from conventions, who can't stand for twaddle, and shun all pretensions.
There is an angry beast inside who shakes at me sometimes. It gives me mean and violent thoughts. It draws no moral lines. It'd kill them all in vicious ways without heartfelt remorse. This fever of being must be, until it's run its course. Then I can be civil again, and my blood can cool. And I can play my normal role: -n- be done playing the fool.
deep in the cave,
thereâs a hole that knows no light;
everything
and nothing can reside
within that black hole
My brain is an angry sac of neurons: hot wired / electrified. Sizzling synapses ready to snap and spew seedy scenes upon this world. But no one hears a scream in the dark void of a barren mind: though the scream radiates outward as a painful wave of unknown origin & purpose, a tremor in the fabric of us
A ship crosses the ocean, in the darkness: darkness, black & endless no moon, no stars, just clouds -- thick & low clouds that can't be seen The ship has lights, but those lights know an event horizon Lights sometime glint against the waves, those roiling & undulating waves, and the lights bounce off the ship's hull But no one can see them, because if anyone could see them, the seers would be seen-- unless theirs is a ghost ship, piloted by literal ghosts, or some other agent of observation Maybe there is fog -- not enveloping the ship, (such mist would be felt on the skin of those on deck) but, rather, a fog between where the ship is, and where is should be For it is surely off course, listlessly drifting, all hope arrayed against edges: edges of ice & edges of the world Not that the world is flat, but, perhaps, it's not fully sculpted: maybe nothing lies outside the range of the seen: outside the bounds of experience It sounds crazy, but all kinds of crazy form in a mind submerged in darkness
the !n(tro)verted yogi 