Just staring at this rain sparks a boundless space of thoughts
Let it all out, even little by little,something that was locked out, that you sought

Let it be a pen or let be a brush
Let be a pencil or let it be some crush

At the end of all the place will fall
The place will fall when the time will call

Let it be words or let it be an art
As we lay down on a horseless cart

An endless pit with a place to fit
The choice of none as the rule was done

A mourning joy, a meaningless pleasure
A rain that forever was an unpriced treasure

Beyond death and life there is no separation, no frontier, no fixed boundary. What we call life and death are only names that thought has invented, abstractions to divide the indivisible, shadows drawn upon the infinite. Existence itself is seamless.

Life does not begin, as a flame suddenly born from nothing; nor does death end it, as if the flame were blown into emptiness. Life is the flame and death is the smoke — both movements of fire, both expressions of the same unseen source.

The river flows toward the sea. We say: the river dies there. But the sea replies: the river has always been mine. The star burns and collapses. We say: the star is lost. Yet its light travels across centuries, touching eyes not yet born. Nothing is lost. Nothing is separate.

Death is not the opposite of life; it is the hidden curve of the same circle. The wave rises and falls, but the ocean remains. To cling to the wave is to fear its end. To see the ocean is to know that the wave was never apart.

Beyond death and life is the abyss of nothingness — not a void of absence, but a womb of possibility. From this abyss the opposites emerge: presence and absence, form and formlessness, being and non-being. They unfold for a time, they dance, they dissolve, and they return. The abyss is not against them; it is within them. Every opposite carries in its heart the silence of its own dissolution.

To see this is to awaken. Fear falls away, for there is nothing to lose. Grief softens, for absence is another face of presence. Love deepens, for the beloved is never gone, only transformed.

Beyond death and life, we discover the transparency of being: full and empty at once, radiant and silent, ephemeral and eternal. We are not born, and we do not die. We appear, we disappear, we reappear — but always we are the universe unfolding itself.

The cosmos breathes, and we are its breath. The abyss dreams, and we are its dream. Beyond death and life, there is only the One — endless, seamless, indivisible.

They say words come together to make stories
But to me each word was born in a story
what is the story of your name ?
what is the name of that story?
mine?
Born to be Burnt in your fire place.

The end of certainty is not the end of the world,
but the dawn of a deeper vision.
We believed the earth was solid, the heavens unshaken,
the laws eternal and unmoving.
Yet beneath every stone lies movement,
within every silence—an echo of change.

Certainty was our shelter,
but also our prison.
It closed the doors of imagination,
it chained the infinite to the finite.
Now the walls have fallen.
We see the universe not as a machine,
but as a mystery—
a flowing river of becoming.

The end of certainty is the beginning of freedom.
To live without anchors,
to walk among paradoxes,
to welcome uncertainty as the companion of truth.
In the vast sky of unknowing,
we discover the stars of possibility.

Here begins our journey—
from the ruins of the absolute
to the open horizon of the infinite.

Beneath the earth
   Things grow and turn

Beneath the dirt
     Wealth glows and burns

Beneath the skin
       Beauty shows and churns

Beneath the whim
         Greed forever yearns

Beneath the sky
           Trust mends and earns

Beneath the why
             Answers hold and learn

Beneath the thoughts
               Actions live wild and firm

Beneath the highs
                 Love does survive

Beneath the truth
                   You shall arrive

Beneath the fruit
                     Life redefines

Beneath the lie
                       None can deny

Beneath your roots
                         There you will lie

On the last page, a question lingers around,
A little gem for the reading crowd.
“Look up at the sky,” the book does implore,
And you start to ponder what you read before.

“Has the sheep eaten the flower?” you ask yourself,
A cosmic riddle, revealing itself.
For in this thought, the universe sways,
And shifts our view in wondrous ways.

If the flower still stands - proud and untouched,
Is the sheep’s hunger forever unhushed?
Would it dream of petals, soft and sweet,
While munching on grass beneath its feet?

But if the bloom has met its fleecy fate,
Is the prince’s planet now desolate?
Would stars shine dimmer in the night,
Mourning the loss of that floral light?

No grown-up sees why this matters so,
But children understand the question’s glow.
In pondering sheep and flora’s dance,
We glimpse the magic of happenstance.

Perhaps in asking, we become more wise,
Seeing the world through children’s eyes.
For in life’s garden, strange and vast,
It’s wonder, not logic, that truly lasts.

So gaze at the heavens, mind roaming free,
Imagine the possibilities you might see.
But watch out for a question, horrific, yet deep:
What if the flower ate the sheep?



The earth is not yours, not mine —
it is the breathing body of all.
The stars are not strangers,
they burn in our blood,
they echo in our thoughts.

To wound another
is to wound the sky,
to heal another
is to heal the whole.

We are not many, we are one life,
one dream dreaming itself
in a thousand forms.

And when we awaken,
the walls will vanish,
and we will remember:

No border holds us,
no wall divides the breath —
the air of your lungs
is the same wind that moves the oceans,
the same whisper that stirs
the heart of a stranger.

First froze the 𝘌𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘩,
When the 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘵 climbed too far.

Then was it scalded,
When the ¹horses came too close.

Of course,
Most people eschew mythology & learn only from reduced histories.

Similar situations such as this,
Like Climate Change,
We have lived through before as a species.
That much is plainly obvious.

The kicker is,
At least with what's left of those records,
There is an implication it was also from us.
From how ancestors of our treated Earth's ecology.

But also,
How the universe treated us.

If, in the environment in which we exist,
There is never not light shining -
Then the logical inference
Is that there is never either silence.

For instance,
There are one's own thoughts.
There is one's own heartbeat.
One's blood flowing,
One's own decay & growing.
Decaying which grows
From growth after growing.
The decay of the body's harmony -
Of its own regulatory systems.

Such things are solvable.
Establishing new order -
Liberating Nature;
Through Tranquility, Harmony.
But only through Harmony, Tranquility.

Time shows Nature - Kronos shows Gaia;
Nature shows Time - Gaia shows Kronos -
You are all undeserving,
You are all unworthy.

Think you're the only children,
Think you're only children.