In the stuper of every day thinking
Subsides the need of learning.
The words that go unsaid,
The thoughts that are unheard, unfelt.

All will make sense in the end.
The acceptance, the hope.

It matters, the constant feeling,
But not the persistent thought.
What goes before, not what
Needs to come. And all that,
which steers the worldly.

The more that is put off,
The less that needs putting off.

The light that is unseen.
The focus that is the being.

imagine yourself                                                                                                                                                          here,

                                                                               at the beginning
                                                                                                  and end
                                                                               of all things

                                                     where a mass of unthoughts points vaguely


to a blank center-->



                                                                       ^where desires converge^
and where a sovereign evanescence
                                       wheels your neoteric self upon the world. silently;

        steaming boundaries condensate
                                            along that transfinite faultline
                                                                                pressing through existence;

                         lightning summoned to our complacent
                                                                         belief in peace.