The thoughts that follow…
Crossing the unfeeling surface of this ugly city, lost in broken reveries & the sophistry of melancholy without origin,
thought begins to blend into visceral abstraction:
the nausea of a simple creature wanting only to know why it knows it must suffer.
Wouldn’t it be better not to think at all, to be
innocent & free
from the thoughts that follow the hollow feeling that everything
is meaningless?
…but meaning is a concept,
one of thought’s many children, so without thought there would be no concept of meaning to be lost…
through a clumsy succession of steps I try to accept that the words bring this suffering & yet are the only source of my salvation:
no affirmation without negation;
nothing is something, & something is nothing
without opposition…
this is what brings me back to a fleeting consolation, my one broken prize; a thought that isn’t mine:
the tree is really rooted in the sky*; it is the light falling continually from above that provides the energy needed to defy gravity,
by finding it’s way upwards while sending roots deep into the earth.