Looking up into an experience
Turning in and then turning out
The time till it stays is measured, it
Can be understood
What comes and then goes
So before thought always exists
A thought
This is knowable
This I
That comes and then goes
Then comes

Inside a path I hit a point,
A resistance, a fear,
Hesitance to watch a back,
A moment trying to build a fence,
A self
In relationship to that point,
.
.
.

A path cannot have a horizon
To be called a path a path has to be free

With
A search light
Through the smoke of god
I walked to find if
I had ever lived
 

Now a dream has ended. All I can recall is the high note in the end. That is all that matters.

A truth relegated to a metaphor, it was never meant to be a trail for the lost; but a signpost of affection for the "found".

This intellect is raging now, those who cannot take the heat, begone. Goodbye.

Pettiness.

All these desires are petty, all these fears are petty, all these pre occupations petty. All
The need to self express is petty, to contain is petty!

around me I see pettiness institutionalized!

There is no victim or victor. All these highs are petty. All these lows are petty. Toughest part is to know you are in a prison and telling yourself that you could be free! It's not tough, but can anyone help with a good replacement?

One can act or be a part of this pettiness. Maybe the world is perfect, but do you really deal with this perfection with all your pettiness?

Each story spawns a million stories. Sometimes one should simply dissolve.