The urge to want to catch ‘this’. Just for a moment. To bag it. Own it. Bring it home and eat it.
And yet the hunger darling....It never goes. Does it?
That insatiable sense of this never being enough always lingering. The background hum of that looped orchestral tune. 'what is happening is not what it should be.
'This sense of you that is apart, the spook in the wheel of everything, trying to bring it all to a grinding halt.
So as to finally stop. To arrive.
Then, there is a suggestion, that there is no you, now nor ever, doing that that feeling of apartness. No you seeking.
Only that sense arising. And Falling. In everything. For no one. More empty than yesterday’s dream for tomorrow and full to the brim of all that appears to be happening.
This 'you' that seeks to be at 'one' with 'everything' is everything being that. Already. You are not. Already this is nowhere. Already absent from our dance.
Already over my love. Every tiny inch.
No.. every inch. No I know. I know.
But it's all over.
Every movement. Every breath. Every sound.
Every longing
Every strut. Every BUT
Every tear. Every thought.
Every word spoken. And every one not.
All of it. Every tiny bit of ease & dis ease.
Every ache, sorrow, pain and joy.
Is this being this.
It's this. Whatever is
And that this is bullshit?
Yes. Because it is. Every word.
and on and on and on, we dance together.
the eternal dance.
Of never being able to dance apart.
and on and on and on, we dance apart.
the eternal dance.
Of never being able to dance together.
The dance of you and I.