Footprints of a Witness.
A strange restlessness lives in me-a small fire beneath the ribs,a wind that never learnsthe meaning of stillness.Is this unrestthe fuel of my journey,or merely proofthat I am human?Should I come to a haltto convince myselfthat I have risen abovemy humanity?Nothat would be impossible,a quiet betrayalof my own blood and breath.When this restlessnesslies down for [ ]
At the edge of breathwhen the ribs unhookfrom their cage,one questionwaits did I play well?The board was setbefore my hands.The dice were warmwith other lives.Name,blood,timeissued without consent.To play wellmay be to press backagainst the windjust enoughto sayI was not onlycarried.February 21, 2026
A body walking on the roadSuddenlyas if it wishedto dissolveinto the road’s dark vein.The “I” slipped.Vanished.As if the “I”were a planted error,A beautiful glitch.The matrix runsexactly like this.Except perhapsfor people like usA minor defectin its code.Thoughts arrivelike silent handlers,escorting me awayfrom that raw pulse.Thought has its own matrixlayer within layer.So when I leantoward 'it',I…
I am a footprintin wet earthclear for a moment,then only earth again.I am a clay cupfilled with breath,placed amonga thousand other cups.No one noticeswhich one holds the skyfor a while.I walk like windthrough tall grassthe grass moves,then forgets.I am simplya passing shapeof the same soilthat receives me.(Feb 7, 2026)
This body, this breath,these senses that drink the world,this mind that turns within itself like a flame.How can Istep outside of being human?(Posted on Feb 2, 2026)
I have begun to driftbeyond the human shoreline,yet thin ropes of skin and breathkeep tugging me backto the familiar weight of bones.That is okayfor I am not hereto complete any definition of spirituality,not here to harden myselfinside borrowed molds.I refuse to wrestle myselfinto holiness.Having treated the feversthat come with being human,I choose to remainat the [ ]
When you realize you are a part of 'it',the distance dissolves.And then you feel the onenesswith the grand whole,not feeling as if meetingan outsider.You may sing,you may dance,or simply close your eyesto stay there.But still remember that 'it'does not require your submission,nor demand your devotion,or delight in your celebration.For no one is there but you.You [ ]
Beyond drifting,what else can I do?To console myself,I move my hands, my feet-it feels as if I am swimmingtoward a shoreI cannot choose.Yet something flowsclose-so close-though waves may cast me anywhere,I remain gatheredaround that presence-which,as long as I am,will be with me.(Jan 28, 2026)
If I speak plainly,you won’t believe methere is no great fireworkhidden behind the veil.No summitwhere drums waitfor your arrival.Those who dancemistake movement for arrival.They may smile,but stillness isn’t there.There is no peaceand no oneleft to receive it.The seeker dissolvesbefore peace can be claimed.Nothing is meantto be gathered.What you will dois throw awaythe bowlyou’ve been standing […
The worldextends a bowlnot empty,not free.Each gifthas a thread tied to it,thin,almost invisible,but strong enoughto pull.Hands that reach oftenlearn the weight of holding.Those who sip lightly,who set the bowl downbefore thirst becomes habit,walk with fewer shadowsclinging to their feet.Detachmentis not refusalit is knowingwhen to loosen the fingers,and let the riverpasswithout tryingto carry it…