The pregnant void, dialogues spoken between masters, allusive yet always there, the oscillations of our being, this death of life and this life of death. If we come from some nothing, then we are that something that gives meaning to its absence, to its silence. Within its pause is our birth, our awakening. We are the daylight shaking through the trees, the changing shape and shift of a wave, the rising arc of a mountain, in an ocean conceived without boundary, we are here.

Words inspired and rearranged from Alan Watts and some music I was listening to: remixed by Josh Fleming

Image by: Lukas Furlan







2 thoughts on “Rising”

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