all else
Perhaps all resounding trademarks of philosophy, whether written or discoursed for colorized permanence, should start with the term 'perhaps' by some fabled fashion to constitute itself unabridged, taught absolute to mirror the immense vastness of this bewildering trait too illusive by the stretch of its extremities, too unstable to make use of its foundation. Perhaps we continue, dawn masks upon the stage, anticipate the reverberation of every quantifiable sound condemned to its space, eager to escape the silence. Perhaps there inhabits truth in the whites of noise, where wraith-like waves of every color sway gray, obscured into the listener. Perhaps the listener imagines this truth, perhaps this truth imagines the listener, blackens voyeur into value, recognizes co-conspirator even in the remoteness of stifling darkness where truth forbade entry of its light.
Perhaps there are morals to stories that are told in lengths throughout time, suspicions of mindful morsels melded to the tapestries foretold by brethren, emboldened, endeavored meaning, well and proud the pursuit of greatest statures of philosophy; to uphold pristine like a temple encompassing the sky with its sacred dimensions held secret behind impenetrable stricken walls laid thick with isolation. Emptiness howls forsaken tones through phantasmal passageways, wielding wanderers lost in dense catacombs as furrowed in a lofty hand; patterned like a labyrinth to the seeker whose merits conjure fate; like a fortress to the third eye, a sanctuary to its shadow. Welts of teardrops fallen onto ground bring it unto form. Nothing is safe. Nothing is sacred. To condone such statements divulges bleak existentialism. Although I succumb to the hunger in truth moralizing this ideology, I seek balance as an optimist. Feel as I must, I hope for the best, prepare for the worst, nurture the prophetic chasm centered betwixt these extremities; where birthed are fortunes, circumstances, revealings in their wake; that trudge through dirt, creep and burrow toward the surface, enter time and space bursting with precedence; then alas perish with the past, realities consumed by dust.
Envisioning embrace I point and focus on the breath. I breathe steadily, inwardly inhaling harmonies, the surrounding energies dowsed with chastity I identify as the good in nature which serves me wealth most graciously. I remain steadfast, stay humble, endure motion, imbued by the eloquence of its kinetics; the course of one complete lifespan of the universe; an episodic exactness spun from death to rebirth, exhausting yet another expiration. Each enigmatic cycle reflects but a single heartbeat pounding the entirety; where writhed and swelled inside the ribs a crypt doth holds a thunderous heart, cradled by echoes' everlastingly rendered silences. Brooded by gleaming crimson flow, each echo symbiotically devours its kindred, and then in turn feeds upon itself until extinct, until deafening muteness becomes all that remains of noise. The quieted heart pulsates from oblivion once more, from the nothingness it neared, like a spark within the void. Again I endure until breathing reaches brimmed capacity, all entrances and fleeting paradigms understood yet compelled to persist poised without avowal, for these blasting echoes subjugate intrigue, from whims and emblematic flurry to feats' circumspection, to the unraveling of truth commuting energetically through its veins.
Then, I breathe outwardly, repelling stalks of dissonance to dither at their ends, what foul, sordid spiritedness no longer serves me in my conquest, permeating from within, from depths where it hid, as I did, from the drought of the sour world; near devoid illumination, too dimly lit to survey lands where weary light had faded beneath spoils of failures unremitting. I exhale that which sought to drown me, incapacitate me at my weakest countenance. Truth descends bound to the suchness of its shape, like a diadem demure dropped into the tidal streams of consciousness, where dreams from waking life are met with exquisiteness. I exhale that which kept me spellbound from my worth. From defeat a dying falsehood relinquishes, surrenders, sets aflame the veil it wore, a robe to disguise itself as truth. This finality brings about the calm, a provocative mist of verdant setting, a lush manifest paradise comprised of splendid greenery, enriched by ancient hues; a sweet passivity of reds; blissful pinkish blush twirling giving evidence to wind; ornamental violets looming over shades of plum and midnight blues; soft browns and grays relaxed upon the eye; orange elements aglow like fire dancing across the enchanting landscape; pearl white clouds pierced by sunlight rays, draped by fluorescent waterfalls of otherworldly yellow, which swoop below and heat the fertile ground; its humming soil wet with promises; prisms and truths at ends with reckoning.
There is more to the road than simply the road, more to the path than just the path. Quiet the fuss suspecting where they lead, whether toward enlightenment or horizons romanticized by euphoria, from valley to the peak. I am seated at the pinnacle, my discipline alongside me. The diplomacy of stars orbit overhead, as curated in my pulse and enlivened in the heart; expressive like a dream with faultless acquiescence. The self transforms, awakening no semblance of self. What paths complexly led to this divine discovery dissolve in arrant equilibrium. I am surrounded by my center. All that is is with me, I am without all. Perhaps there is nothing left to ponder.
Perhaps there are morals to stories that are told in lengths throughout time, suspicions of mindful morsels melded to the tapestries foretold by brethren, emboldened, endeavored meaning, well and proud the pursuit of greatest statures of philosophy; to uphold pristine like a temple encompassing the sky with its sacred dimensions held secret behind impenetrable stricken walls laid thick with isolation. Emptiness howls forsaken tones through phantasmal passageways, wielding wanderers lost in dense catacombs as furrowed in a lofty hand; patterned like a labyrinth to the seeker whose merits conjure fate; like a fortress to the third eye, a sanctuary to its shadow. Welts of teardrops fallen onto ground bring it unto form. Nothing is safe. Nothing is sacred. To condone such statements divulges bleak existentialism. Although I succumb to the hunger in truth moralizing this ideology, I seek balance as an optimist. Feel as I must, I hope for the best, prepare for the worst, nurture the prophetic chasm centered betwixt these extremities; where birthed are fortunes, circumstances, revealings in their wake; that trudge through dirt, creep and burrow toward the surface, enter time and space bursting with precedence; then alas perish with the past, realities consumed by dust.
Envisioning embrace I point and focus on the breath. I breathe steadily, inwardly inhaling harmonies, the surrounding energies dowsed with chastity I identify as the good in nature which serves me wealth most graciously. I remain steadfast, stay humble, endure motion, imbued by the eloquence of its kinetics; the course of one complete lifespan of the universe; an episodic exactness spun from death to rebirth, exhausting yet another expiration. Each enigmatic cycle reflects but a single heartbeat pounding the entirety; where writhed and swelled inside the ribs a crypt doth holds a thunderous heart, cradled by echoes' everlastingly rendered silences. Brooded by gleaming crimson flow, each echo symbiotically devours its kindred, and then in turn feeds upon itself until extinct, until deafening muteness becomes all that remains of noise. The quieted heart pulsates from oblivion once more, from the nothingness it neared, like a spark within the void. Again I endure until breathing reaches brimmed capacity, all entrances and fleeting paradigms understood yet compelled to persist poised without avowal, for these blasting echoes subjugate intrigue, from whims and emblematic flurry to feats' circumspection, to the unraveling of truth commuting energetically through its veins.
Then, I breathe outwardly, repelling stalks of dissonance to dither at their ends, what foul, sordid spiritedness no longer serves me in my conquest, permeating from within, from depths where it hid, as I did, from the drought of the sour world; near devoid illumination, too dimly lit to survey lands where weary light had faded beneath spoils of failures unremitting. I exhale that which sought to drown me, incapacitate me at my weakest countenance. Truth descends bound to the suchness of its shape, like a diadem demure dropped into the tidal streams of consciousness, where dreams from waking life are met with exquisiteness. I exhale that which kept me spellbound from my worth. From defeat a dying falsehood relinquishes, surrenders, sets aflame the veil it wore, a robe to disguise itself as truth. This finality brings about the calm, a provocative mist of verdant setting, a lush manifest paradise comprised of splendid greenery, enriched by ancient hues; a sweet passivity of reds; blissful pinkish blush twirling giving evidence to wind; ornamental violets looming over shades of plum and midnight blues; soft browns and grays relaxed upon the eye; orange elements aglow like fire dancing across the enchanting landscape; pearl white clouds pierced by sunlight rays, draped by fluorescent waterfalls of otherworldly yellow, which swoop below and heat the fertile ground; its humming soil wet with promises; prisms and truths at ends with reckoning.
There is more to the road than simply the road, more to the path than just the path. Quiet the fuss suspecting where they lead, whether toward enlightenment or horizons romanticized by euphoria, from valley to the peak. I am seated at the pinnacle, my discipline alongside me. The diplomacy of stars orbit overhead, as curated in my pulse and enlivened in the heart; expressive like a dream with faultless acquiescence. The self transforms, awakening no semblance of self. What paths complexly led to this divine discovery dissolve in arrant equilibrium. I am surrounded by my center. All that is is with me, I am without all. Perhaps there is nothing left to ponder.
exhausted
peaceful
contemplative