It gets to the point where I begin to wonder if everything I have to say is all just words,
and then I begin to know it is
All just words trying to wrap around some unseeable object. Does anybody else feel the same way? like what we are looking at is a bubble? Just emptiness surrounded by a mass of liquid where without it there'd be no shape. A poet, a poet wraps words around like a decoration. A poet sees the life inside the bubble, or a poet is really good at pretending there is. A scientist; a scientist describes a bubble, but does he look at where it is going or where it has been?
Sometimes my words give shape to nothing, by which, I mean there is nothing to give shape to. My words are cast and they fall flat, they cover no boundary to the shape of this world, they touch no air and suffocate themselves and fall dense, in line with all the ocean of lies that never needed to be. I believe people love to throw words out into the world, I myself love to do it, to try a new brand of honesty and see how the world weathers it. Where do my words stand, where do they fall? Where do they give shape to the truth and where do they just lie flat?
Or how about entering a world where there is no shape, where to live means to hide from fear- to live far from what is real, to live far from what can hurt the most. A life with no shape.
And then what if the shape is our mind? Rather then the shape being some truth, the root to existence, what if the shape is our mind and all our words do is cloud it and cover it, hold and discover? The less words, the less cover. The less we discover, the faster return to instinct. Instinct, instinct has a shape, there are no words yet there is cause and there is effect. There is shape in this world. There are two, the inside and the outside, there is the mind and there is reality. Do words cloud reality so we cannot see with the mind? Hardly. There is but one solid shape! There is only one that survives the onslaught of words thrown at it day in and day out. There is but one shape our mind should not rather pursue but reflect. The truth of cause, the truth of effect. Wherein the formation of this reality has been founded not in survival, nor in greed or lust or desire at all for what did the earth desire when it was born?
The earth does not exist to keep, the earth exists to give. What a wonderful shape that is!
