The quiet undoing of self-made grandeur.
There are moments when the veil thins—not by force, but through the gentle exhaustion of self-illusion. This piece came in one of those moments. I wasn’t trying to understand anything; I was simply tired of my own thinking. What followed wasn’t revelation, but something humbler, older, and more real: the noticing of what never left. This is for the ones who’ve tried too hard and are ready to let the listening speak.
How small we are in this thing of dreams, no Wonder to enthrall,
How minuscule, how thinly masked, that grit that makes us tall.
We tower in our minds alone and revel in our ploys,
We think we’re greater than all else, and yet we play, as toys.
No deep thoughts linger to move the world, no depth in our perception,
We travel in a mindscape vision, mighty lost in the wrong perfection.
Towards the end a light awakens me, the fog of thought now tiring,
How silly, was there all along, just lost in my self ‘miring.
The magic of life- so simple, so plain, it waits with patient breath.
The magic of life- so willing, so game, to love us beyond cosmic death.
Numinous Waves 