Sunday, Easter Sunday To Be Specific (before the setting of the moon) / Domingo de Pascoa ao luar das suas (das Suas) primeiras horas
My hand whisking across the horizon
changing its colour
with each breath I have ever taken
dripping unuttered words from every finger
each drop a soliloquy of untangled thoughts
hair in the wind
muttering silences as I stop
All my tomorrows?
Those that live in each step
as you run in and out of each moment’s past.
And the present?
It is a moment that is not surrendered.
Because it is unfathomable.
You can think of the past and the future
but not the present. It is unfathomable.
Within it lie all pasts and possible futures,
and all your living selves that are not always familiar with each other.
You feel you know you exist when each present moment is here, not “there”
and though you feel answers may lie “there” it is here you answer, not there
– and since you know not not ALL the THEREs
you feel the predicament of the present,
It is the only moment you actually feel when you pinch yourself,
and you can not bargain what through the grace of existence you do not know.
But that doesn’t mean the present isn’t Whole, it is, Your’s (and Mine) is a fractal of present existance, thus ‘unbargainable’, and That
is the beauty of each fraction of existence, of each present.
It is the present of the Present, and the burden which is also
It presents itself
(and the more you fathom
the more you know you don’t,
and the more you know you don’t,
the greater the – Present (present) (presence) (presents) …….)
Wishing everyone the best of Holidays – Happy Easter