How many rythms we are and who listens.
We are inaudible.
No body can escape history, only in dreaming.
The dreams dream the missing body.
The mind escapes in its architecture, an unstable jungle.
it evades in dreams too
The dreamer dreams what one cannot think.
Concepts are birds on wire or double edge swords,
one edge cuts the density of the world, the other one cuts the body away. The body is the musical canvas of the mind.
Ideas don't exist without a hand, without a tongue.
Everything transforms into other than itself,
the body becomes mind, the mind becomes body.
Thoughts turn into motion, sensation  into image, images turn into words, colours, noise, an eternal hum,
we are the toys of a god of life. 
 Everything vibrates in a potential field of meaning.
Every tribe of cells has its own sense of time and grammar, 
In between the empty space improvises.
The mind is a martial artist, it rehearses its moves with conviction and pathos.
The body absorbs reality and feeds the mind,  it is an amplifier of life.  
These words are passing through my mind, my chest, my eyes, my hand,
I don't know exactly what they mean.
How much sense there is in a touch,
how light or rushed or heavy or shy or joyous or furious or screaming or ardous or defeated or uncertain or afraid.
I carry the other in me when I dream their bodies.
Then you move away, stay or dissapear, who knows.
 Communication moves through the body.
Everything that is alive finds a way to be. 
 Everything that is alive finds a way to destroy its aliveness.
The body resonates inside the body of the world.
The nuances of light gives the eye its intensity,
the movement of darkness moves the mind to fill the blanks.
A shared chemistry binds us and how much effort we put to disentangle.
Full succes is impossible.
There is no escape from being alive until we greet the great unknown, I suspect death is alive too after all.
we already know many ways of dying, we pretend not to know how life can render us lifeless.
Frozen, constricted, unflowing, circling, dying bit by bit.
Nowdays we die with speed in our eyes, with surprise.
What do words dream and who dreams the words?
Who dreams the world and who shares the dream?
I don't want to be captive in anyone's dream.
Let's share the dreaming,
from some dreams
there is no scape.

I dream
of the apocalypse
long for it
fantasize daily
of what it would be like

the world as we know it
ending
never to be the same again

the pain of lost nostalgia
society crumbling
a fresh start

I long to see human nature
stripped down to animal form
raw fury
primal instincts

we would all be killers
wild and desperate
so focused on survival
we'd forget about all the petty things that used to matter

everything would be different
no one would have to hide anymore
I WOULDN'T HAVE TO HIDE ANYMORE!
we could succumb to it
the darkness
the Monster

it wouldn't matter
the demons that plague you
who you love
who you are
all your deepest
darkest
secrets
suddenly simply methods of survival

I would survive, I think
we would
alone
together
just fighting zombies

let's be honest:
they aren't that bad anyway

someday, society would be reborn
a new one
post-apocalyptic
we would go back to what we once were
creatures of the night
of blood and beauty

but for a while, nothing but
anarchy
lawlessness
pure desperate survival
where nothing matters
and everything goes

I dream
of the apocalypse

I close my eyes— sleep, awake, threshold, rupture, flight  
a door unhinges inside my mind,  
splitting wide to the infinite howl of the cosmos.  
The dark swallows me whole,  
Yet I walk silent through the nothing, a shadow without weight,  
stardust in my mouth, my veins glass rivers humming with echoes,  
feet bleeding across the abyss,  
through infinity, past the breath of collapsing stars.  
   
"Love!" I call, voice shattered into echoes.  
"Love, where are you?"  
"Do you not know my voice?"  
"Do you not recognize my face?"  
"Come to me—consume me—fill me whole"  
"Save me from myself!"  
"Fill me that I may feel again!"  
   
The silence trembles—quivers—writhes.  
A pause deep enough to drown in.  
The stars blink but do not speak.  
I stand waiting.  
Breathless. Ageless.  
Quietly searching for something real.  
   
I turn to the trees, the aching roots,  
falling leaves spiraling like forgotten names,  
the blossom of spring,  
petals folding inward, whispering secrets only the wind understands.  
I look to the distance  
the mountains, cracked open with time, bleeding slow rivers of silver.  
   
With great haste I ask,  
"Do you know love?" I beg you.  
"Tell me where?"  
"Show me the path so I may stumble and fall but find my way!"  
   
Nature smiles—a slow, knowing smile, carved in stone  
but does not answer.  
   
Desperate to feel again,  
I wade into the sea, let the salt carve into me.  
My heart drifts upon the waves,  
a fragile thing, a paper boat with torn sails.  
With a thunderous call to the horizon, I shout:  
"Waves, bring love to my door!" I beg you.  
   
But the waves only come and go, come and go, come and go  
dragging time in their hands, whispering riddles that dissolve before I can grasp them.  
Bearing sound  
but no word that falls upon my grace,  
leaving nothing but emptiness in the sand.  
   
The echoes of silence fall upon me once more.  
   
Night after night, I untether from my skin,  
leaving my body like an abandoned house,  
walking the plains of the universe,  
searching, calling, begging for something real.  
A ghost slipping between dimensions.  
A traveler in far-off lands.  
A lonely wanderer beneath the unblinking eye of eternity.  
   
I run through comets, wade through nebulae,  
stars burst behind my ribs,  
galaxies unravel beneath my fingertips.  
I stare into the cosmos,  
my hands cupped like a beggar’s bowl,  
aching, pleading  
empty,  
lost.  
   
Until one night—the universe listens.  
It hears my calls, my somber songs, my whispered prayers.  
It splits its sky-wide mouth and speaks,  
the words I've so longed to hear:  
"You seek love?"  
   
I look up at the heavens, at the endless sky.  
"I wish for nothing more!" I cry.  
"I want to be whole again!"  
   
And in an instant, I am home.  
Bare feet on the floor.  
Shaking hands on the **** of my bedroom door.  
Knowing where I am  
but not knowing why.  
   
"Open it," the voice says.  
   
I do.  
I run through, heart caving in, a million thoughts burning,  
only to find myself.  
Standing there.  
Alone.  
Staring back.  
   
"Is this a cruel joke?" I scream at the stars.  
"I'm right back where I started!"  
   
The universe laughs.  
Soft. Knowing. Unyielding. Endless.  
   
"Did you not ask to find love so you could feel whole once more?" it says.  
I reply in haste,  
"Indeed—but it's only me here! I search for love to complete me!"  
   
The universe laughs again—louder now, like rolling thunder.  
"If you wish to be whole," it whispers,  
"love yourself first."  
"No one will make you complete but you."  
"Love begins with one."  
"With 'I'—not with another."  
   
I wake, drenched in sweat, heart raw and open, confused,  
the universe’s voice still clawing my memories, drowning my thoughts.  
Enlightenment.
A truth.  
A lesson.  
A revelation.  
   
Wisdom
"Love yourself."  
"Be whole."  
"Then love will come."  
   
And I  
I sit in the quiet of my room,  
Alone.  
But not empty.  
   
Breathing in the lesson,  
like it is the first air I have ever known.  
The truth.  
The answer.  
The key.

Between steady breaths,
I float away in peaceful sleep
although, I am not quite here
and I am not quite gone.
My slumber becomes a nightly rehearsal
for when the final curtain falls
only without strings attached,
as I flirt with oblivion
and keep my options open.

Each night I ghost the otherworld,
leaving my body wrapped in a duvet
as I run away with my dreams
and return before dawn breaks.
I have become death's friend
as I surrender to the darkness
without agreeing to forever,
as I experience my temporary death
with daily resurrection rights.

We share in the nothingness,
as my consciousness is on pause.
Tonight I'll die again,
and tomorrow I'll return.
It is the perfect arrangement
with death who waits patiently, understanding that I'm not quite ready
for anything so permanent yet.

©️Lizzie Bevis