My walks to work are not all equal. There are these days without thoughts, there are also these clouds in my sleep and my hopes. Then there are these morning lights, made for the pleasure of the eye, which drinks in evanescent details.
It is not necessary to always have a purpose in life, a direction to your steps. It is not always useful to think. Just shut up and watch. It is enough to abdicate too, how many times have I repeated it here?
There are these days to have desires, and sometimes even to think about running away. There are these immoral hours in our heads, these calendars that never end melting before our eyes until the last date.
Then there are those quiet, wet, morning lights that evaporate like silent novae in contrast to our panting hearts.
There is this amazing light in our eyes. Our lives can be quiet. There is this brutal end that, during all these hours that inhabit us, catches the old souls. I imagine hearing this bubbling of births and deaths, this hyperbole background sound of the universe.
All those big words again, universe, existence, time.
Some prayers do not require words. The eye can decipher different readings. Mornings are so beautiful when they hatch in us.
I write to the queue in my meditation. That’s how I spend my time.