Nonexistence Of Self © Surazeus 2023 12 08 Though I can never more talk to the dead by stirring sonic field of mindless thought, I can listen to the dead speak to me through whisper of wind on waves of the lake or mutter of trees on the hills and plains, for they teach me nonexistence of self. With burning needles of the alphabet I can sew vast tapestry from lost tales depicting how we humans have survived since we crawled up rivers to mountain lakes and stood by fruit trees to sing with bird calls stories about nonexistence of self. While walking in the mist of mountain woods on silent vacancy of sunless land between cluttered village of memory and voiceless cave of expectation, I speak the world real to spring from void of hope as river from nonexistence of self. Across the slow flash of one million years I stand beside the river of my mind and listen to its timeless song of love accumulate bright memories of the dead as ceaseless flow of stories humans share that record whole nonexistence of self. Since every river flowing in the world has been named for translator of its song to twisted narrative of human dreams, I search the waste land outside every nation to hear the wordless silence of desire which generates nonexistence of self. Through never-ending cycle of the seasons Earth blooms and decays with song of the water that captures every word humans have spoken to flood lush farms with ideologies when dams of religions collapse from hope, which redesigns nonexistence of self. We gather in garden of paradise to hide from thieves behind walls of desire till Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil has been stripped bare of prayers the dead recite, and we scatter to seed the Earth with words that try to name nonexistence of self. Every day when I wake on Earth again I half-remember the words of the dead they spoke to me in the Realm of Ideas so I can build Heaven from changing forms in temple hall where only the dead speak to calculate nonexistence of self.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
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