Every bit of every piece of every split second
I am born again anew.
It takes some getting used to
(I'm not yet used to it)
my chrysalis becoming and becoming...
I ride the air of phenomena like the fragile butterfly that I am,
easily dried out, pinned down by time,
readily crushed to dust and left to ride those very same winds into nothingness,
and I forget that simultaneously as I look and listen and feel about
that I am also again and again reborn anew...
the light in my eyelashes as I look into the midday sun,
for the first time, beyond time,
because the next time, as a flurry of snowflakes dropped from a nearby tree branch tickles my cheeks,
I look into the light, and the world, quite differently,
bleeds bright gold white.
I am not what I seem to be,
a man with direction...no...
I am illusion, a wisp of a thing that's not a thing,
I grasp my recollections of self only to claim anew a different story,
a different face,
a different mind about everything and nothing at all....
I've nothing to say
with nothing on the tip of my tongue.
Awash in an ocean of endless difficulty,
astray in a world of concepts that simply don't apply,
in flight in an expanse that offers a vista that is nothing at all ,
and I rest in this no place like a big reflective butterfly hovering effortlessly,
displaying a world in my wings....
each flutter an illusion,
a mark of some new beginning.
Anew, anew, anew…
“Hello, hello, hello?
Are you there?”
“Am I here?
“Where are you going?”
“No place to go.”
These are whispers of understanding
that disappear like tiny flumes of leaf smoke on a windy day,
or like dried butterfly wings
on a crisp, bright winter's day...