Freedom doesn’t have a name
Is not an idea of freedom
And doesn't have an opposite called enslavement.
Freedom is also imprisonment.
Bound as whatever is.
Contained and ordered
Chaotic & wild.
Or namelessly as what is. Boundless.
Not you and what is
Just what is.
No room for you.
Of what is, not much can be said. Or a thousand books can be filled
Trying to extract meaning from words
Is like looking at an apple through a window pane. It will never get close to the chaos of jaws, and mouth and teeth and tongue ripping that shiny sphere apart, crushing it into sweet bitter water as it slides down your throat again and again and. Till there is just the apple butt. "BUT I am here". You could read a bazillion how to books and you would never figure out how to come up with that "But" and yet that "But" is just happening. Just happening my love. These are no one’s words No one’s thoughts No one’s grass No one’s sky No one’s leaves No one’s light What is belongs to no one. There is no one.
Just happening darling.
Any seeking is no one’s
And any recognition is no one’s
No one is saying there is no one.
Already though baby.
Sorry.
That’s the shit part and the most wonderful part really.
It’s already over.
Yes there is nothing to say.
But…
Yes includes that BUT…
Everything.
Butt but butt but
Butt...
but...
All of it.
Even the pip.
Love ya baby.
x
