Park benches, late nights, cherry blossoms, walks under the moon, drained of every bleeding lie, looking at the world. Just being. Being, aware of every breath escaping the lungs. Of seeing everything and yet nothing. Drunk maybe, on feeling nothing. Of closing eyes to glimpse galaxies swirling in the head, of letting go, freefalling. Of how everything looks a little softer once the eyes open. Visions of lives, lands, times, such a blur. How would one focus on just anything? How to freeze a moment and look at it forever, everything else just suspended in the background? The head feels heavy on the shoulders, missing a step, stumbling as I've drunk from the cup of truth. Numb. Run, screaming, for the world follows you, to seize your madness away. Don't lose it, that's what makes you sane.

When you realise what ancient mystics have seen, when you wear their eyes and you reel at the sights spread before your eyes, and only one thought bellows in your mind. Take me there. Those lands, that sight. Make it last forever. What a farce we've been living. In that moment, how can I say where I am? How do I explain the feeling of not existing at one point?

Laugh, as you see fools struggling to find meaning to their lives. What is a drop in an ocean? There is no meaning, why are we bound by such reason? And yet, if there were no drops, there will be no ocean. That's all there is. To just be, so the universe gets to be. And being on the same wonderous plane of the universe, maybe in a moment of clarity, we see it in all its full resplendent, existential glory. Oh what a moment! There you are everything and nothing.

Thoughts run at the speed of life. One leads to another and to another and I've not moved an inch, yet travelled galaxies. Be, my spirit. Just be.