You see how the sand is ungraspable,
Life falling through fingertips no matter how tightly they bind together.
It all comes and goes so quickly,
Yet certain moments of presence smooth and slow it all down.
Heart beat races thinking of what is coming next.
A leaning forward.
But then, once mind focuses on body focusing on hands typing words,
You return to a felt sense of this moment, this breath, this sound.
There is nowhere to hurry to for it is only death that awaits you.
And yet, to let each sudden moment come to you, meet you, is a crisis of mystery.
There is a habituated longing for linear held story,
Yet, no matter how hard you try, no one really knows this song.
It is a grand death to keep remembering, over and over, to lean back in this very moment.
Everything matters so much, is vital to the continuation of your youness,
Yet none matters at all.
A paradox – the opposite of death is not life, the opposite of death is birth.
Life encompasses the ritual dying and rebirthing,
An endless cycle that occurs in a second, a day, a lifetime.
We build endless illusions to believe we have some power, some control.
But alas, it truly is all a dream.
Nothing is known, all is unfolding.