I'm dreadfully afraid that I'll never really reach it. (I watched it again last night; it sank back into the horizon, melted into it like some jewel into liquid metal. And what could I do about it? What could any of you do about it? Reach in and scorch your fingers? You know it and I know it, I'm not pompous enough to reach in and know that I won't be burned, I've lost the edge and it's not coming back. My fear kept me far away from that tangy blue spark out there, again.) I see everything, everything and it's so developed, flowing so seamlessly, so easily out of mouths, fingers, teeth, arms and limbs and all of it; and it splashes out like a kid into the waves of the shore, screaming and laughing in some state of pure bliss.
When will my parents take me out to the beach? (And maybe that's it, that is it. It's some where to walk to.)
For now I'll just stare at all the leaves around me and remember to not think about the pain I cause them when I walk indoors and consume.
All the beautiful people, all of the art and poetry and literature, all locked inside of Dharma minds, in a constant state of stasis. I feel as though it's all been lost, even though I know it doesn't matter. Nothing does when you look at the sun, God damn it.
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