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.

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