Stream of Consciousness...

Nested here,
On my pirch in the city,
I watch the world spin around.
Rested here,
On my city step,
I listen to the sound of Heaven and Hell,
And all that is forgotten,
In Between.

The school life is like a daze, where you can lose yourself in books and social activities. A few steps out the door and the world still plays the game of "becoming," with everyone busily working on one thing or another. At times it seems silly to watch everyone buzz around like bees going somewhere. Going, going, always going - but where? And why? I follow nonetheless, for a delicious flower to suckle life from, the act of becoming. I wonder sometimes if this is our grand myth, this act of becoming. If I write, it is in that state of wonder. That subtle watching we are all capable of doing, the eye that sees a life unfold over the years, is the eye that can most dispassionately, yet most fully and completely observe the act of becoming, without becoming itself. More and more these days, there has been a sense of "watching" my life instead of becoming lost in the story. The habit crystallizes, will it shatter?

Come come,
Play pretend for a little longer,
Your laughter,
Your hatred,
Your tears,
Your drama,
Let it unfurl most obviously,
So that I,
That little Witness,
can play Audience.
Come come!

The show must go on!