Love's Laughter - Silence

Lots of coalescing.

Nights on the couch watching TV before I slip the surly bonds of consciousness; walks in the morning in; swimming in something that is nothing.

The relative memory - which dances between poor and poorer - plays with the absolute memory - and a garden of fingers comes up from the verdant ground. Busy, too. Plucking memories from the lifespan to date and bringing them forth - even the worst of them not too full of foreboding because they are all just a part of the fabric.

The fabric that is paradox incarnate - the place between the objects that were never there to begin with. It's illusion, but not the illusion I think it is.

The fabric is the always present hum in my head that can be heard but is not aural.

The fabric is the shimmering space I look into that is both and not ocular simultaneously.

The fabric is *THAT* which I walk through; more like a walking *in*; and as the temperature becomes more and more familiar, the delineation between the fabric and I dissolves.

Like floating in a pool, feeling the water around my body, then realizing that there is no discernible point where my body ends and the water starts.

Except here it's:

'The world' coming in through my senses to my mind
My mind parsing and connecting
A remembering that there is something aware of the world and my mind
A realization that there is no separation between that which is aware and that which it is aware of
The collapse of the 'world' and that which is aware of the world into
Seamless, non conceptual fabric
Which allows me to navigate
Distances - because there are none
Relationships - because in context they are just the absolute creating and dancing with itself

Worries dissolve more quickly
Because this magic fabric continually
Pendulums me into and out of the absolute
Magnets the memories that I can walk through the day with
Or mesh in the night with

That's the image:

I'm wearing clothes
Made of of the fabric of the Kosmos
Love currents and conundrums the stars and moons; It rivers and snakes around the jacket and the pants
Iridescence running errands from the absolute
Pastels and erases itself in This,
Love's laughter; silence.