Modifié le : 2019/07/13

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.