~ Major blue empty: first listen to the weather pattern; the scaffolding remains, but the holding songs of color are threadbare; simulacra of imperfection simply swirls like seagrass, a pointillist matrix of rainfall rustles gathering scene -- nothing stands on its own initially; but after a few localized moments it collects to articulate this silence, as each sound looms and subsides in the garden of selective speculation. ~
To understand it, you have to meditate on it. Block out the chaos and white noise. Some messages lie clear, while others are deep as the sea. Without proper caution, one might drown than swim with pleasure. The words that are etched on paper are constructed to make one think, compelling the mind to become active. Once you’re into it—it becomes more than didactic. As one focuses the mind—much is revealed! What is revealed is like grapes yielding wine and olives yielding oil. But until then the mystery remains sealed.
I’m chasing the ghost of attention through the pages and pages of words. every time I lose concentration, I am feeling a little more lost— hoping, there is something to guide me at the depths of my heart of my soul— something able to shine, inspire me, as I fight to recover control.
