The mind at play is a rocking boat:
It goes along the flow of our thoughts
Between destination and arrival ports.
And on the boat we learn of causality.

The mind at rest is a quiet pond:
Its surface mirrors the world
As the edges are all withdrawn.
And in the lake we learn of unity.

The mind in a rush is a storm:
Waves collides in a frenetic waltz
Where one sees hills in eruption.
And in the storm we learn of identity.

...if we could get the vessel across;
...if we could face our own shape;
...if we could settle on the hilltops;
What more would be left for us to behold?

fresh white sails
clean air of possibility
f r e e
undoubtedly as

I cast another anchor
into the vastness of blue
tethered by that which I
cling to.
There is joy in the ebb, the shore
but the choosing
is what kills the air;
stifles my sails

I can hear the ocean beneath my feet
I can see the distant horizon

They say “set you sights”
But what if I’ve lost
the looking glass?

Swaying to the sails,
As the ocean wind blows in all directions.
Expanded,
Over an ocean of whales.
As they ascend,
You ride them to the sunset,
And set in the sun,
Rising in the morning,
To spread across the ocean.
Like the yoke from an egg,
You hatch into a new life.
The embryo from the sun,
Running down the coastline waves.
To touch every soul down there,
Except for the ones in their caves.

I’m shipwrecked,
left in the dark - stranded
in a never-ending sea of despair.
I was sailing for nowhere,
doomed from the start.
No need for an anchor
when I have no destination
or no home to call my own.

Anchored to the ground,
But free to float,
Is there a more peaceful existence,
Than that of a boat?

"Pain is weakness leaving the body."


- Evan Huang