The Power of Silence
The inexplicable connection when you split an atom and no matter where you put the seemingly separate parts
That are never apart; that communication isn’t God or Science...it is Silence and we are the interruption thereof
The things that I speak of and teach of; if I were to give them personification, they would lose their true flavor
An example is that I have a deep and abiding connection to all things of Myth and Legend but not as reason!
For what we deeply experience isn’t someone or thing, it is The Silence in/of Nothing...like the Tao/Zen
The awareness on some level of it moving, and us, like a violin string; being played by it; the absence in/of it
And hearing the non-existent whisper inside of it; listening to it and inevitably becoming it; this Is Power
You then are as still as the metered tempo of a virtuoso; unknown at the time of sublime consistent execution
And easily you could turn to me and say brilliant, clever, and wise yet, it is through its eyes that I see
Yet it is not a person, place, or thing, it isn’t anything; it is the space in-between and around everything
And it is to that which we are to listen. We are trained to sound and distractions abound blinded by, all, around!
Yet the message is in the Silence. On some level the water buffalo knows that there is an alligator waiting
In the watering hole, does it stay or does it go, does it listen to what it knows; what of the mouse and the snake?
Good things come to those who wait; this is why death has a gate and it sits at wait to see what choice you make
In Silence you escape because it is the one thing that Death can not take or hear because it is already there
There is nothing to listen for, no fear or anything anywhere; as long as you are still, Death has no will
I am not saying to avoid it, just that there is no power in variance to it because it is silent
Like the depth of the ocean or vacuum of space; there is power all over the place in the absence
In these extremes is where the dream of reality exists; something is spawn from the pressure of it
Humans venture in there minds and fear the primal sublime running away from Darkness all of the time
Perpetuating all sorts of chatter attempting to shatter the inevitable silence in the end; filling the spaces in
One of the greatest lies is to say that Silence is the absence of sound; when Silence is prime; there all the time
You have to make a sound; Silence is and is not found. Look to the simplicity of it, the presence of it
The depth and feel of it and how we run from it ever so often in finding that which to fill it
Yet, what we fail to see is the omnipresence of it; the vastness of it, beyond space and time; consistence sublime
No matter what you say or do my silence can/will always pierce through you, through my eyes, words; touch
Saying Nothing, yet, saying so much, do you really think that your thoughts mean anything to a Silence
So blindingly still, without though, deed, or will; the universe sits in this...still....moving; what a paradox
Silence was/is my mother and as I was born from her womb I shall return to her tomb; this is why you fear
Because she is always here...waiting for you to shut the f__k up so that she can refill her cup with your absence
Wicked truth so far removed into your annals of cultural fears; always what is waiting for you out/in there
But guess what, if you become it, you no longer have to fear it; at variance always filling space creating waste
Just stop, let go, and here is something that you may not know; Death shows to snatch/match what you hold
This is why you get feeble and old because as you hold onto life; Death is on the other side to provide the pull
Yet, if you live life to the fullest, releasing all the mess, you are its welcome guest throughout existence
You must understand the permanence of Silence, the depth of Absence, everything else is just distraction
All that you’ve been told is filler of a depth untold, for there is Nothing to say, yet, if you stay, you are Eternal
This is the trick we have been told it is in the substance, the oneness, the wholeness, yet, it’s the emptiness
For it is this that holds all of it; this is what we miss and we trip out on existence saying someone did this
I find it thrilling, that I am something like a tree with an innate Silence in and about me. That I am this
Abstract thing seemingly moving in a dream of some sorts and to realize that what is dreaming, doesn’t exist
It is just simply dreaming about existence and if we are Silent we won’t wake it up; we can still run amuck
The greatest questions it seems are: What if Nothing wakes up from the dream? Or simply just stops dreaming?
The inexplicable connection when you split an atom and no matter where you put the seemingly separate parts
That are never apart; that communication isn’t God or Science...it is Silence and we are the interruption thereof
The things that I speak of and teach of; if I were to give them personification, they would lose their true flavor
An example is that I have a deep and abiding connection to all things of Myth and Legend but not as reason!
For what we deeply experience isn’t someone or thing, it is The Silence in/of Nothing...like the Tao/Zen
The awareness on some level of it moving, and us, like a violin string; being played by it; the absence in/of it
And hearing the non-existent whisper inside of it; listening to it and inevitably becoming it; this Is Power
You then are as still as the metered tempo of a virtuoso; unknown at the time of sublime consistent execution
And easily you could turn to me and say brilliant, clever, and wise yet, it is through its eyes that I see
Yet it is not a person, place, or thing, it isn’t anything; it is the space in-between and around everything
And it is to that which we are to listen. We are trained to sound and distractions abound blinded by, all, around!
Yet the message is in the Silence. On some level the water buffalo knows that there is an alligator waiting
In the watering hole, does it stay or does it go, does it listen to what it knows; what of the mouse and the snake?
Good things come to those who wait; this is why death has a gate and it sits at wait to see what choice you make
In Silence you escape because it is the one thing that Death can not take or hear because it is already there
There is nothing to listen for, no fear or anything anywhere; as long as you are still, Death has no will
I am not saying to avoid it, just that there is no power in variance to it because it is silent
Like the depth of the ocean or vacuum of space; there is power all over the place in the absence
In these extremes is where the dream of reality exists; something is spawn from the pressure of it
Humans venture in there minds and fear the primal sublime running away from Darkness all of the time
Perpetuating all sorts of chatter attempting to shatter the inevitable silence in the end; filling the spaces in
One of the greatest lies is to say that Silence is the absence of sound; when Silence is prime; there all the time
You have to make a sound; Silence is and is not found. Look to the simplicity of it, the presence of it
The depth and feel of it and how we run from it ever so often in finding that which to fill it
Yet, what we fail to see is the omnipresence of it; the vastness of it, beyond space and time; consistence sublime
No matter what you say or do my silence can/will always pierce through you, through my eyes, words; touch
Saying Nothing, yet, saying so much, do you really think that your thoughts mean anything to a Silence
So blindingly still, without though, deed, or will; the universe sits in this...still....moving; what a paradox
Silence was/is my mother and as I was born from her womb I shall return to her tomb; this is why you fear
Because she is always here...waiting for you to shut the f__k up so that she can refill her cup with your absence
Wicked truth so far removed into your annals of cultural fears; always what is waiting for you out/in there
But guess what, if you become it, you no longer have to fear it; at variance always filling space creating waste
Just stop, let go, and here is something that you may not know; Death shows to snatch/match what you hold
This is why you get feeble and old because as you hold onto life; Death is on the other side to provide the pull
Yet, if you live life to the fullest, releasing all the mess, you are its welcome guest throughout existence
You must understand the permanence of Silence, the depth of Absence, everything else is just distraction
All that you’ve been told is filler of a depth untold, for there is Nothing to say, yet, if you stay, you are Eternal
This is the trick we have been told it is in the substance, the oneness, the wholeness, yet, it’s the emptiness
For it is this that holds all of it; this is what we miss and we trip out on existence saying someone did this
I find it thrilling, that I am something like a tree with an innate Silence in and about me. That I am this
Abstract thing seemingly moving in a dream of some sorts and to realize that what is dreaming, doesn’t exist
It is just simply dreaming about existence and if we are Silent we won’t wake it up; we can still run amuck
The greatest questions it seems are: What if Nothing wakes up from the dream? Or simply just stops dreaming?
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