The subtle glowing cave,
Walls humming softly with the energy
of ideas waiting to be born.
Whispers wafting from
space to paradoxical space,
drifting peaceably and holding
the awaiting moment by the hand.
This quiet dance soothes the soul,
calms the senses,
and restores the heart.
The gentleness of this equilibrium is
so delicate,
so fragile,
that it is often overlooked...
Until in a flash, a boom, a blink-
The offspring of the mind races forth
and disrupts the movement.
The translucent child
runs to and fro,
playing joyously amid the
vast expanse of matter
and exploring all of its wonderland.
It cries out in a loud voice,
for no other reason than to hear itself.
And runs, just to feel itself running.
If the child is noticed,
if the space gives it room to run and yell,
to be and to play,
then it grows.
It grows and forms.
It becomes complex and
more alive,
gaining depth and body
along with age and possibility.
The no-longer child
becomes full and real over time.
Gratefully accepting the space it has been given
and boldly asking for more
until it innocently consumes all.
Then,
Its impossible to ignore.
The cave becomes too small,
and the no-longer child must be let free.
It must be spoken of,
acted on, and lived out.
It must be accepted into other caves,
being reborn in the same manner as before,
but quicker, with more intensity,
it begins to spread.
It must.
It must be loved by some, and hated by few.
It must challenge traditions with the desire to recreate.
It must.
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 7:14 PM UTC
The subtle glowing cave,
Walls humming softly with the energy
of ideas waiting to be born.
Whispers wafting from
space to paradoxical space,
drifting peaceably and holding
the awaiting moment by the hand.
This quiet dance soothes the soul,
calms the senses,
and restores the heart.
The gentleness of this equilibrium is
so delicate,
so fragile,
that it is often overlooked...
Until in a flash, a boom, a blink-
The offspring of the mind races forth
and disrupts the movement.
The translucent child
runs to and fro,
playing joyously amid the
vast expanse of matter
and exploring all of its wonderland.
It cries out in a loud voice,
for no other reason than to hear itself.
And runs, just to feel itself running.
If the child is noticed,
if the space gives it room to run and yell,
to be and to play,
then it grows.
It grows and forms.
It becomes complex and
more alive,
gaining depth and body
along with age and possibility.
The no-longer child
becomes full and real over time.
Gratefully accepting the space it has been given
and boldly asking for more
until it innocently consumes all.
Then,
Its impossible to ignore.
The cave becomes too small,
and the no-longer child must be let free.
It must be spoken of,
acted on, and lived out.
It must be accepted into other caves,
being reborn in the same manner as before,
but quicker, with more intensity,
it begins to spread.
It must.
It must be loved by some, and hated by few.
It must challenge traditions with the desire to recreate.
It must.
