Seaweed

If you want to see me, you can try coming down to my resting stone, but you won't find me there.

There's only the sky to stare at now or these days, whichever outlives the other. It's pasty all over and colors sometimes swim by, diluted as they are we still call them rainbows, though they're more like clouds. No one has a body or a voice but we know each other and what dwells within. I'm not sure what happened at first but at the end is another horizon, simply fading back and back until we're back to where we started. Isn't that the cycle Buddhists see, to a degree? Some time or another a field came by; I sat in it for hours staring at the sun. It also sat with me, and we spoke of all things, which in the end makes up nothing and itself at once. We spoke about the inexistence of duality, but only of harmony, whether that be chaotic or organized. He sank underneath some hills, which in time turned to mountains, and the moon rose over me in a sea of stars.

Darkness fell upon everything, and it was finally clear.