I followed the man in a red robe with deep purple beads and dreadlocks through the town square lined with meat, seafood, rugs, and incense vendors. Past the fountain until we stopped at the waters edge.
I vow to become the swift moving stream atop the slow moving bedrock that is the world I am in, but not of.
To become a vessel of dharma, I followed this man for years, in his footsteps, through fire and water
through dessert, and fields of broken glass.
We never spoke and I never questioned.
I awoke when he woke.
I fell asleep when he fell asleep.
Raging fire of pine and oak
a thin veil as we stare at the evening sky.
Over time the pinpoints move closer
in and out of our vision, a blink
and they soon sit in the palm of my hand.
Various processes take place and the system
rotates, fluctuates, consumes, and releases energy.
I wonder the consciousness this contains and the fiber
of neurons interconnected, pulsating and the breath it appears to take.