Staring blankly out the window before my desk - not unusually blankly, (because it's not that unusual for me to be blankly), but definitely blankly blankly. The kind of blankly where you might recall being a certain many years old and a certain many inches high, but you don't know how many - specifically. You're also certain you have done many interesting things over the course of those many certain years - and with great purpose, but the reason for the purpose is forgotten, and also, what the many "interesting things" were - exactly.
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| coffee cup (jacket) doodle - akka b |
Staring blankly out the window in front of me, I observe evidence that I have in fact been busy, because of what is grossly spread behind me. Notes taped over the entirety of the wall, stacks of real books and note books on every available surface. Colored pens, pastels, paint brushes strewn, jewelry weaving projects in a half finished mess on the antique tray near my closet, piles of clothes - approximately three of them - in various positions on the bed, carefully heaped on the floor, and thrown with great intention to 'put-away' across the back of the chair that isn't meant for that.
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The art of nothingness... releasing all to the all, becoming one and all without becoming at all, being, without intention, without collusion or confusion, simply melting in a melting pot without sides, all times stirring in silence, timelessness brought into the moment, staring into eternity in a single raindrop.
ReplyDeleteThe art of nothingness defined without being confined.
:)