In Kin
Supposing we are all apertures from one inner space, how beholden we exist in this spectacle of breath. The illusionary grasp amidst the crashing waves, holding us grounded on clouds passing by. The self contrives matter to be anything other, as the sun shines only with at least another eye. Fleeing from dual notions of other in thee, yet rough and smooth solely together reside. How funny to think of black without white, sound without ear, vision without eye. The stars shine in celebration, whilst plants grow with no debate. Play with the idea, not here shall this preach, Attention to this dance is what thee in I seeks. Lives in soul or souls in life? Thus in our mask of instinct, & together we look through it, as one kindred spirit. August 2015