The trick is to die before you die.
Again and again and again.
Watching my ego float in space
Feeling its stories in my body
Matter and movement
Named only by humans
Like blots of ink on paper
All to be faded by the sun
Still we rebel against entropy
Still we make art with our lives
Composing matter
Redirecting movement
Marking the page
Labeling and assigning
This is that, that is this
This is pretty, this is not
I want this, I don’t want that
This! This is me, mine
Hoping, hoping
It will last.
It won’t.
But even when we remember,
Even when we see
the empty page for what it is,
that sheet of white that holds us
The matter-less nothing beneath the
Shapes and colors
Even then, we can’t help but fall for the joy of splattering ink, admiring the forms, watching them play
Look! Look! Look who I made myself to be, look what I did with this life, look!!
Matter dancing in delight
Waiting to be seen,
Loved,
Appreciated.
And so,
the story goes,
She sees herself.
She sees the emptiness of her dance,
Stretched out in time and space
And understands
This I am not, that I am not
Not-I , Not -I, Not-I
And dissolves into the matter-less nothing
Giving up the dance
Dying
And returning to only that which lasts
Only that which out lives the sun,
Love.
May we all die before we die.