The soft sound of a distant chime is killing me
As I breathe this air
Feel this skin
This body is not mine
With such clarity
My feet touch polished wood
Softly.
The realness of it
brings all I am
to the forefront
And I am distant of it.
My mind scattered like pieces of paper in the wind.
All I know that is
truth
is that
My feet touch polished wood
Softly.
Somehow
A surrender of giving meaning
to concepts
objects
life
has reached me.
My surrender
Has filtered through me.
And instead of feeling relief
I feel like I have either sunk
deeper than before.
Or risen
even higher.
There is no difference really
except the point of direction.
But my path could not have varied from the one I chose to take at the start.
I was searching for the same answer the whole time.
And now I've found it.
I have no drive.
Now that I feel it
I don't.
But for the first time
things have never been so clear to me.
I am looking at the world through sculpted glass
clear and purified.
But I am not in it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem