It comes and goes
in flurries and spurious blips
It ebbs and flows
regaining balance as I trip


I stumble to and fro
but only so
I get a grip


so I can know
the self is just a sip
from a cup from a well
of endlessness


I think I’ll take a dip in it,
the aquifer  beneath;
the self that sleeps;


the surging deep
that covers all
that I discover
in the midst of this
duplicitous engagement with
the mist


Like water
in its various states
Like cycles of the moon
like seasons changing


Like the air:
the space that holds,
where self unfolds
in rearranging


but sit with it
the emptiness
and resonate in semblance


as when breathing
we are feeling
come and go,
but never leaving


Such deceiving things
the tapestry of dreams
forever stringing being


To be the thread
not alive
nor dead
but interweaving