A conversation with a tree root at dawn.
A conversation with a tree root at dawn.
Perhaps if I were to lie here long enough
It might be possible to undertstand what the sensation of the earth might be like.
Perhaps if I hide here long enough
The speed of the world will soften
Perhaps if I try to conceal myself here for long enough
The skies will change.
A fleeting instant, I don’t think you know those?
The power of reason, you have seen too much to know all its inevitability.
Fails. Falls. Faulters.
Why did they cut you down?
The power of understanding?
Leaves. Leaf. The damp. The sodden. Washed up in dew.
Stillness comes in waves. Do you miss your branches as limbs?
I wish I did not have this language.
The dawn chases the night, grabbing its tail and holding it to account. I can hear you laughing. All of this is repetition, you know that originality does not exist.
The responsive and the responsible mind, and your mind.
To determine the weight of labour.
The doing and being, The spectator of passivity and action.
The habit of unconscious consciousness, refining the process of participation in the spheres about one.
To create or to enter a space where one can begin to understand human nature.
What if you have never seen a circle? How then would you know of beginning and endings? The potential for the infinite could then still exist.
Who is the lady with the sea weed in her hair? What of this matters?
I wish I could understand you.
Flashes of images, silence of reason, determination of spirit, modes of display, a personal strategy for engagement, we will not define empowerment for fear it will bring tears to your markings.
Buttermilk and beetroot soup.
You were there.
Perhaps you are not.
The little bird sits on my shoulder and tells me to pretend that tears are raindrops.
Only two things are certain, that everything comes to pass and everything changes.
Urban re:passages 