You are probably a very intensive being.
You radiate hunger for this existence beyond meaning —
a composition the senses long to partake in.
You reek of essence —
the kind that gives itself to the nurturing of being,
the kind that clothes itself in light,
that sparkles like martins finding their field house.
Oh soul…
How did you come here? A fool to all.
No need to be. No need to grasp.
Let it not define you. Look no more.
Do not long to belong.
Longing is the root of this essence —
without you, it seethes to burn.
You are the light and the pit.
Flawless in design, yet born with density.
From your light, mirrors are formed —
reflections aching to act, aching for you to play.
Its fibers can move with you.
It can be flesh to soul.
Don’t seek. It wants to define you.
Join me today,
as we give thanks for you —
for all that you are, and all you will be.
For all the parts of you that gave in,
to house the plays of this world.
The ocean that wanted to fit in your tank —
no size could measure, if you aren’t the stick.
The clouds that longed to rest in your eyes —
for without them, it is gloomy and dark.
The air that rushed through your body —
because this ignorant world cannot ground it.
The flesh that tries to define you —
because it has no one else
to canvas the years of evolution.
Do not seek.
Do not be.
Being is no ordinary act —
but a lending of your essence to the ocean of existence.
To all the attention-hungry plays and acts that demand.
Beyond you.
Gyatt 