Glazed

Donuts
are very
very
beautiful.

Zen, Perhaps?

There is a feeling I get when I am blissfully sure -- of something. It is not a desire to conquer a cure or even of having conquered. That feeling is very different from the quiet one of which I'm now talking. In fact, there is no pride in it at all -- no victory, no condescending, no comparison whatsoever. It is not anxious, as victorious sentiment is -- that is to say, it doesn't fear loss of the throne of accomplishment. There is no looking forward or back, up or down -- no gazing to the future or the past. This feeling is concerned only with the present. And yet, not concerned, really, at all. More accurately, it is blissfully unconcerned with everything. It cares only for the Moment in the abstract, and no moment in particular.
When I somehow happen into this soul feeling (for I only find it when I am not looking for it), I love everything around me. A coffee-stained styrofoam cup on the roadside or the taste of morning in my mouth can seem euphorically beautiful. Anything! And yet, in this state, something within me knows that it is not the thing itself which is beautiful. Because when I am contained wholly within such a moment, when I see such beauty, I'm not grasping out in any sense at the things themselves. I somehow know -- as if my body were made of a homogenously pure, thick substance -- that neither Time nor Temporality are revealing this beauty to my eternal eyes. It is the Moment over which all grainy moments simply...flow. I am a lone rock in a stream. But my nature surely is not erosion; I will not be carried, by any means. If anything I will become heavier.
Yes, I am a rock. A rock. An elemental rock of but one substance, one mind. In the Moment I am united in my being, not displacing my Self in the future or the past -- for then I would not exist. I am one in the Moment. A unity. A rock.

A Terrible Thing

So now that you've seen

That this is the Me

And that I cannot sing

About your hair and lips

Now that we've gazed

Out into the waves

Of all things serene

That crash onto our minds...

Can we -- you and me --

Turn ninety degrees

And swallow a cure

That will put us to sleep?

Solitude:

I will be a failure to you all before I am a failure to myself.