a minute can go by quickly,
or so very slowly. 

this minute… like driftwood 
in this vast, gushing river.

other pieces of driftwood 
swim together close by.

i float briefly, feeling the water
ripple over my skin. i immerse
myself in the sacredness of
this stream of nature.

i gather strength and wade
back to shore, a net of
driftwood dragging 
behind me.

i feel empowered, refreshed, 

i feel changed by my experience of
forcing my way down to the bed of
the river and allowing myself to be 
carried up by the rush of water. 

i feel here. in this moment. now.

no judgment. no attachment. 
just observation. and release.



i say ‘we,’ so much easier than saying ‘i.’ 
i say a word, but what i mean is
something behind it. 

i say, ‘we hide behind our other faces,’ 
but what i mean is
‘i hide behind this farcical lie.’ 

there is such loneliness in ‘i.’
such hollowness… such solitariness in knowing
there is no one to share your i-ness with you. 

to exist inside a certain state 
inside a certain ‘i am’ 
and to know ‘this oneness is mine.’

there is such angst inside 
that dark reality… this terrible truth
i am delivering from the shadows.



sometimes, one must rest—i must rest—from 
the ubiquity of life. but. i go one step
further. i lie down to sleep.

that is my intention. 
to sleep.

a failed intention,
as it turns out.

i feign sleep. 

someone once told me that 
pretending is a surefire 
step in the direction 
of truth. 

i say, if pretense be my truth
in this moment, so be it! 

in simulating sleep, i find it.



found time.

it greets me.
i grin.

i observe it
as though it were
an optical illusion.

it is,
isn't it?

the afternoon is pulsing,
resonant and serene, 
filled with possibility.

i dare to be with
the extraordinary.

i dare because,
not to dare...

i am seized by a radiance
that demands no