Connection

Every moment of our lives
Is a necessary moment
And all that happens around us
Interacting with what happens inside us

Nothing is for granted
There is one continuous flow
To everything that happens

Like waking up from heavy sleep,
You look around and ask,
Where are we?

The pathways of our lives
Have led us to this very hour
And all that it encounters

Like scenes of every day
Direction is unseen
But binds within our eyes
Subconsciously speaking

Slumber

In the land of purple, each clock beat to its own march and though each one had its own rhythm and setting, they all shared common space, simultaneously. There was a figured being sitting on top of the gears in one clock sowing threads of a fabric he himself was made of. Though not flesh or of bone, this cotton and wool made the spaces around. Each clock streamed in one dimension and where dimensions crisscrossed so did the distinctions between before and beyond. Everything happened in a moment called now, either you where there for yourself or someone told you about it. And through this woolen thread there were scenes like a bridge to see what he’d done before that he did. Yet this information was only partly received, as what he’d do he’d not yet done so for him there was no certainty. But because of who he was he could only do that what he does, as what one does and who one is cannot ever split, if he’d ever done differently that too would be his. Through the cottons of worlds he followed a trail with a dim of the light and the tiniest spark that upfront still held shine where reality reassembled each time made long journeys like snapshots of life. A dream half-forgotten to one’s awakening state overlapped in beginnings of each brand-new day.

Over the Hill and Through the Mountain

The splashing of the seashore
In ambience with the breeze
Means very little to
A heart that’s not at ease

Well-being starts within
And vision is transformed
To appreciate full spectrum
As connections are restored

Well-being starts in us
Once distanced from our troubles
Oxygen I’ll know
Breathing well is as gold

One can close one’s eyes
And soar on plucking strings
Paint in movements what's yet to be
Something something

But we trust our feelings
And guide them to reveal us
The image of portraying

When there’s a shattered heart
So there’s a shattered world
As our hearts sync back to peace
Beauty is all around, abundantly

Marvels

I believe in a day I'll feel life with soul, like conscience magic, mind manifestation of the “I’m in between the times and spaces”, experiencing overlapping moments of contrapuntal dissociation, when sensation suggests beyondness. “I recall a moment in the future like it happened a long time ago.” Like there’s a streaming flow of time, and then there are bubbles, which know none of that. They belong to different measures and settings, shifting their place of occurrence to a singularity, as a moment outside the moment, or a moment so contained within itself, it cannot be measured by what came before or what comes ahead. The quality of perception is usually underpinned by the emotional content attributed to each given moment we experience. Emotion is often undistinguishable from how the world is consciously perceived, as, for example, beauty and art would not be more than geometrical figures depicted of color, or sound waves varying in pitch could we not signify them emotionally. The esthetical spark that brings out emotion is a blend of what is witnessed and one’s natural reception of feeling one’s surroundings. As receptive sensitivity is enhanced, so is the sensorial experience of living. Given one finds peace in where they are and what they do, substantial elements are based to make our interaction with forms and figures enchanting and profoundly meaningful.