3033:
Born from
the wet
tar of
industrial
lungs,
nights of
refugees
shivering
huddled
in domes,
looking out
of windows in windows
at a smear
of horizon,
their eyelids twitching
until they rub them
with their fists
like
flies were writhing
inside their pupils
In the spring,
they breathe in
a yellow haze,
coughing out
the blood spit,
their flesh
raggedly
hanging,
blotches
spreading on
their backs
like red
moths
on bark
In the winter,
ashes
float down
so silent
they
taste like
dry bones
One day,
if we do
nothing,
our secrets
will become the
crying pain
of our flesh
Yet we
so often
lay
uneasy
in our
dreamless
nights,
not knowing
who we are
because we
have rejected
ourselves
We forget
that we
are
all our
ancestors
and the
wind
In a
desert
we have
made out
of our years,
we want
cross the
sand of
night,
we want
to find a
place that is
more than
we are
On our
naked
bodies,
the moon
meets
the
shadows
of a hidden
sun
There
is no one
to guide
us
All change
takes place in
eternity.
There is no
past, present, and future,
There is essentially timeless
static.
Time is a transformation,
metamorphosis;
invisibly
overlapping realms
of secret
possibility
from no clearly understood
cause.
The immediate now
is the flowing
music
from the infinite
multitude of
lines and
surfaces,
colors
and
textures,
spaces
and
densities
which surround
us.
Stoic Practice: Confront Yourself
Examine an event and observe your honest reactions to it. Death, for example, is neither a good nor bad occurrence. All creatures will die, whether they are young or old, healthy or unhealthy. While you cannot control your demise, your can think a million ways about it, confronting its truth or not.
Your attitudes toward death, an uncontrollable end, may cause you to suffer. Scrutinize your opinions about such an event. See what is valid and invalid. How will your views help you to flourish? If your ideas do nothing for truth or your well-being, why concern yourself with them? You waste so many moments dwelling on what you cannot change, dreading what will come. In the meantime, you neglect the power of your attitude, your actions, in the moment.
water has
no memory
in the
midday sun,
white light
waves
sparkling
through
the wind
and foam
bubbling
over glass
and sand
stone
