Written while I was repeatedly listening to “Golden Brown”*
A spherical matrix.
The host of both the unique and the ordinary.
An entity so big
and so small if you dig.
A matter full of spirit.
A spirit full of matter.
Energy formed, energy flexible.
Alchemy only in silence is perceptible.
So many events
in so many microcosms.
Everything is open to
8 billion points of view.
Yet, objectivity waits patiently
to free the thoraxes, one by one.
It’s deep inside the subjective;
the individual is the collective.
So many monads
spell and combine “w” and “h” and “y”.
These are sounds, letters
we think we need as shelters.
What’s there to explain?
If there is a cause?
Brains exclude causeless-ness,
but it may be the opposite of the mess.
Rules (of thinking) are purposeless
without their occasional breaking.
Without the factor that moves the engine,
the brain is just a speechless machine.
We wonder and wander,
spreading our attention,
deifying poets, gurus, philosophers;
the message is the treasure, not the messengers.
We travel around,
up there or on the ground.
But searching is useless and blurred
if the searcher is not self-observed.
*By the way, I have the same age as this song
Anthi Psomiadou — CC BY-NC-ND 4.0 International : Credit must be given to the creator/ Only noncommercial uses of the work are permitted/ No derivatives