illusion of oasis: free write

11 Mar

A Carousel turning. Full of Emptiness. Empty of tools and tool making tools, empty of I and Mine and You and Yours, ours is an animal coexisting with one body and many minds, many bodies and one mind, all the same, one same one.

Fresh face forward gravity uplifting and the weight of this situation is effervescent.

No signal, no sign, no tick toc teardrop run down the steel-cut swords of Sargent Time.

Unmarred by memories, fences and defenses float on towards the forgotten haze of vanishing horizon.

Unconfined unraveled and rolling forth, perpetually present, clean and black and pure and unaligned with any one side or right and wong because the synthesis and integrity of the complete person is pure and propriety is petty and irrelevant in this landless timeless ever and ever ether…

Vacuous Space. Empty: Full of Absence.

It does not matter. It never really did.

The Presence of Absence.

Ever more present silence oscillates and reverberates resounding profound indigo hues chanting and dancing primal and tribal in a circular sea of  tidal moon and lucid blue.

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