Walking tops of mountains seems simple

when all rests in relativity

The realization that

SPACE

is only the relationship between

FORM.



no shadows without sun.

stars shine the same sting.

Ink without paper.



.and therein lies the answer.



Your heart is beating.

Your heart is not beating.



On top of the mountain the yogis slur is trance Sanskrit.

Like oceans they reside

sunken in temples

the waves of their drone pulsating.

the incense is strong

and still it is floating away.



Their words for today and tomorrow are the same.



Hands touching hands now,

do you feel that?

Something MORE!

overlapping

folding over and then

BLOSSOM

color and light leap from shadows!



Your heart is beating.



Now the pulling apart.

Silence.

Cold.

Illusion.

An enigma froze in a shocking static.



Your heart is not beating.



Brahma!

Vishnu!

Shiva!



There is only one.