About Owning

There is no stillness as loud as aroma. Even though I hear naught, I smell everything. And the best sound is the noise on the crook of your neck. It is louder than a tribe of cicadas in the rainforest. 

The air around me swirls and whirls. In swooshes it says to me what I seek to hear. Though I have never breathed a word like that before, I understand that I am one with every wind that blows.

What is this water? It takes up all the space, Oceanic cell filling. There at your doorstep, all woes pass, like a wind carrying dust, it zings around you stinging your eyes if you dare to look. If you want to, you might want to shut the door.

Freedom is something only the bold might brave. Being involved in responsibilty is a bondage, indeed ... to be occupied is to be owned by other than self.

2012 - Meditation

A new island has been born in the middle of pristine far away waters.
Today I wake to see birds swoop, fish meander and foliage has bloomed on the blue sky water island.
To plunge in the invisible water or swing on a high branch; looking out is to see inside.
A walk on the warm beach sands on a frigid winter day under the golden sun, palm trees sing the song in me.
Am I walking or floating or drifting or swinging here? Or am I still? As still as it is here.
In this bright light, my shadow skips along, holding my hand. Now it nestles tucked under me, then it feline stretches long on the teasing sand.
A rumbling mountain grows to nuzzle the fluff in the sky. Is it that fleck in the far horizon or it is here where I am?