It is here, during these dark hours that my mind seeps out. Finding escape through the dark portals of the ears, eyes, nose, and mouth. Blown upon invisible traces it is drawn into the voids and recesses of the world. I hear all. I see all. I taste all. I smell all. Yet I do not touch and so do not feel. Without knowledge of hot or cold, pleasure and pain, I do not know all. I am just another lost spirit without understanding. Corrupt incorporeal. What is this thing that has value without meaning? Desire without purpose? In the darkness it loses all boundaries. Yet in its dimensions curls in upon itself. Then in fear that which I would be returns back to what I am. Binding back to the flesh that we so often wish to flee.
My mind wanders back to the day I sat watching the slow drifting mirages dance across the hot valley floor. Almost as a dream a desert goat appears munching on dry twigs and leaves. I silently watch as she moves on. Just like the petroglyph that lies close beside me of a goat and the blazing sun. Time immortal, I understand what life is about.
I am … The rustling of the autumn leaves which hang tight for now amongst the maple and oak The borderland at the far edge A small stack of stone piled up along the imaginary lines of a map Even the rill filled trickling down between root and rock Sparking gentle reflection beneath half shadows of this wilderness before seeping down Disappearing into the land No one cosmopolitan will understand this simple satisfaction of a season And the acceptance of the passage of life Before we go our way