Unthinking Wholeness
A poem & remembrance on love & silence
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I cannot take love with me,
so I leave it all behind.
My imperfect life will
receive the most love,
for within it were
the most precious
things I knew;
children,
art,
words,
music,
nature,
another’s body…
Its imperfection
had nothing to
do with its value.
❉ sezYour mind, before it’s fully awake, is porous, soaked in cosmic snail juice. A thousand night eyes peek through the tender pores of your translucent skin; the ebony face of Mystery fades with every inch of light gained across the room.
Yet filled into your seams, you lucidly spill out into empty pockets of knowingness that still have space for the preciousness of life: a life gifted by a maker you will only be able to thank with the return of your threadbare body.
To become alive again in an unthought world is to be intimate with silence in a way only death knows.