Sometimes my mind
looses its grip of the crown,
slipping down the trunk,
down the roots,
into darkness.

I can flower,
I just need the guiding light,
to once again vine myself
up into the crown of oneness;

Only to be burnt
by the sun like Icarus,
and whither down
into nothingness
and to be reborn anew;

To die.
To rise.
To live.

For to die is the way of life,
and to live is the way of death.

Blackness, whiteness;
light, dark;

Life is an endless
chiaroscurical event
floating round its own
equillibrious equanimity.

It's grey.
It's colourless.

It needeth no colour representing it.
A representation is merely
another form of being
stuck in definition.

There is no need for defining,
unless there is a want.

The ego wants.
See the ego.

Fly like a leaf carried by the wind,
like a wave upon the searoof.

Neigh in benevolence as a Houyhnhnm,
climb not down vehemently as a Yahoo.

It's all the same game.
It's all the same breath.

You're the event born
from the womb of time
and every event has an end,
but each event can be part
of another event in an infinite loop.

Ultimately it's it.
You're it.

Searching is unneccessary,
but go ahead,
act out the event.

Whatever you do,
you will still be it
whether you realise
it or not.

Be consumed
as London by
its Great Fire,
be inflected
by the Great Plague,
only to be rebuilt and reborn
in the more splendor.

Each attempt has a result
erroneously prophesised.

Mindless or mindful
is all the same eagle
flying towards its destination.

There is no folly
more foolish
than the next,
unless you define it as such.

An eagle is an eagle
is an eagle no more,
whatever that means.

It is it.
That is that.
This is this.

No need,
but go ahead.

Go ahead.
You're all it.
You're all it searching for it.
You're searching for it,
and you're it.

You're searching for the air
in front of your mouth,
the hand in front of your eyes,
the foot against the soil;

You need only breathe,
you need only see,
you need only remove your shoes,
for it's all right there.

Reach out and shake hands
with the other you.

He whispered in your ear
what you thought you knew:
"You're it."

And you became
what you were blind to see,
but what was always a sight.