I hope that it is understood that I am a being of beings. That I am an essence swollen with surrounding. I am leaves and I am air and I am energy. I am potential. I am a measure of passing, and so I am Time. I cleave my arms into the ground of dead bodies and I sink deep into existence. I do nothing but be. Not yet have I lost sense, though. Do not mistake me for a vacant mind, for it is quite the opposite, this state of existing. I know. I know too much. So much that I am rendered ancient by it.
Because I understand the mystery that eludes so many little ghost thoughts. I have discovered the key to fulfillment.
And that is to be still. To be still and allow the rustle of life to wallow around you, curving, cutting. And to remain incorruptible in logical simplicity…. Because there is reason in everything, if you let it breathe and billow and bleed.
Yes, yes… I know this is so.
I shudder and snarl with the weight of snow. My hair scatters down in the dirt, dead. Little claws dance up my body, small feet scamper to my open palms.
I do wish that existence was kinder to the gentle.
