How do I tell what it is
when it is, and it is
How is what, that ought be,
…but is not.
We know what it is:
we know not
The little we know,
suffices for now;
the thirst that breathes
I live here;
does not imply,I live there not.
In the sunlight, there is noise: an unharmonic noise of a turbulence above me, as I am deep into layers, buried beneath pressures that seems to defend me. They defend me as walls, which I am not sure if are choking me further or helping me break the ruthlessness of the storm.
In the dark, there is silence. There is silence of Nothing, a nothing reaching out to me in hope to be seen & felt as something.
In white light dimming drowsily beneath sheets of smoky silk, I am following footprints from a life before.
The light steals me from a self-knowing best achieved in a tranquility of perceived ignorance. In the pain on this ignorance, I may have known myself better. But we have to wait now, for another day to pass; we have to wait a half-life or so, more.