What a fate, to be human.

Forgetful of why we are abashed.

Abashed before experience. Masters of form, with the codes and systems they culled and died for. Carried so long, down to this point, where it all drops in the dust.

This story older than time.

The last band of scientists huddled looking down into the dust where a circle was scrawled. Out of that circle came an image as if the reflection of water. From the other side Pythagoras squats at the dawn of time looking into the faces of these his children…

Beyond earth and its doings, beyond the heavens, beyond the voices of god, there is the god with no voice, this god called emptiness. Not an it, it does not exist.

It neither loves nor hates nor sleeps nor wakes nor moves nor is still. It does not change or remain the same. It is nothing yet is yet is not.

Contradiction no longer two terms canceling each other.

They are not accurate, yet there they are. Inside me and of me. If the desire to know the self cannot accept contradiction, it will only lead the seeker to replicate this distance.

I cannot know my mind the more I try.

This condition of writing. Urge to do what cannot be.

Jack Spicer said, writers all try to write the word which cannot be written.

Warming our hands over a sputtering fire for a while in the dark.

There is or is not a solid ground beyond our ability to postulate?

But that there can be the fire, that there can be the world, even if only dreamt

Not an answer but reason enough. Anyway it’s already moving.

Perfect mystery, tautology.

Pt 2: Output

dead before born. no matter what
sin pure. desire
but peace.
be forgiven. forgive.
encompass the world.
you who is me.
we who are we.
take it all.
strip it down,
feel penance
a celebration.

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