A journey back to the hidden garden where A question sleeps in the coil that is deep within that garden.

Byitself I am Plenty.

Alive

Madness comes after
Never before

The 'I' too comes after
Never before

The fruit and it's action
Can never be separate
They both come together
Never before or after

The insights happen after the 'I'
Then an 'I' is born in that insight,
You come to me
So does all that I then perceive 

Creating, destroying, stopping,
walking, a love story weaves itself now,
I love you I say
And You confirm
All I say

I am a corpse
If I have no I
That produces an I and
A value to that I, this
Is how I understand alive

JOY

How would it look like,
The seasons were in a 
timetable with me
I had charts and verbal
confirmations 
Tours were planned and
The diary ruled
So the past made a predictable
future 

Now,
How would it look like,
I forgot my wallet,
and I have no money to 
pay the toll,
Is it fine if I pay you tomorrow,
He says fine and I continue
My uncontrolled journey

My wife worries and shouts
(Knows I might not have an
answer too),
You look and walk like a
dog, and why do you smile,
Don't you dare relax,
and make me feel all noise.

Living, yes living and it makes
me a purpose just a minute
before a minute,
I laugh,
Laughed hard yesterday night,
When my friend said he needs to
Prepare more,
One of us must be insane,
Take a guess,
And don't bother telling Me.

Time Cannot Handle Silence. It Explodes In It.

Tear the mind to pieces to find means to an end.

Pages turned to one
way street
Satisfied a learned
Found a knowledge
Contemplated ignorance
And saw all objects in their
home

Only you
a fundamental simple living
You were are and would always
be the master key

Always ready to go
A potent life
About to explode
So much to do
And as much to risk
For laughter to come
For laughter to come.

Where do you want
a meaning and why
In life, in walks,
To the senses to know
you from a corpse 

Sinking is multitude,
a dog dies, one can live
if one wants
Hunger is there to find.

A sleep is visited by dead
And the soul never moves
The dead man sleeps 
The hungry stays awake.

Often a meal is enough for
centuries
during the day is what a century is for
sick and old
Dawns come from heads and passions 
So will yours come who remain unmoved.

On My Own.

A gun on my temple
Cold hard metal piercing my
skin
My hands steady,
The finger strong on the 
trigger, itching to pull.

Between my living 
and the chill,
what would save me was
an answer that would burn
it's master.

I could not harbor hope,
for my veins were bloody
murderous
No faith, as fear gripped me 
hard,
I would die, if I did not utter
the truth.

What I said is obsolete if you saw,
What you read here and say I know what you say, then you too
Die,
The gun stays on the temple,
always, ready to blow,
if you say I don't know.

The Perfect Sky

The kite was up, so up,
It stayed by itself,
Perfect sky, it knew,
And the flight was very simple

Was it there because it
thought so
Or did it know
Thinking, ok,
But when would you know it

Whatever I know,
am sure off
I have nothing to think for
No thoughts exists there.
What remains there is the
Doing.

Easy Flying,
The perfect sky,
The meditation simple,
It is the doing,
Do it and see how thoughts burn
in to being.