NOTHING TO SELL

I breathe, just sitting here… I have nothing to sell, nothing to share, nothing to ask for, or offer to anyone.

I feel like emptying some leftover crumbs of an old bread that I once ate without taking note of the ingredients. I can inhabit the empty space inside without the need to push away useless furniture, though they are archaic and meaningless. Sometimes I pretend not seeing the burden as I can see all spaciousness that surrounds it. May be someone else needs a good sweat and is ready to push it out of the window, even though there are no windows in empty space. Roaring laughter rises from nowhere!

May be someone else comes in and sits in this bareness with me, starring at the dark night, embracing the flickering stars.

It is not an invitation, as there are no gifts or rewards in the enticement, or at the end. There has not been a beginning nor an ending expected. We wrap around time as if it was a thread around a spinning wheel.

Maybe it is just the purity of a rain drop glittering on a leaf after the rain, before evaporation.

I remember when there was only that echo of one sound returning again and again and again...being entranced with no other desire but the joy of that endless repetition while we were quietly sitting in spaciousness.

So much waste into words, even now… What is the meaning of sounds put together, when the humming of the background becomes louder and louder, meaningless yet in fullness, vibrating everywhere?

There is nothing else I can say. Please, take out of the imaginary hat images to evoke, inspire, stir, inquiry, but really… just to clear oldness from the mental cupboards.

I have no credentials though have lots of papers with golden stamps confirming that this person with my symbolic name has accomplished some this and that at certain dates. This is value? These are credentials, proof of my worth?

What I honour has no social hierarchic worth, if that is what you are looking for… What I honor is what I cannot remember because it has thawed into my being, erased as mental ice cubes.

What I honour I cannot remember because it has not happened yet, it is this freshness that can just be free of yesterday. Yes, yesterday holds safety as it kills risk.

I have been daring, I have been dismissed, I dismiss myself on the surface, while bubbling heat inside my breasts and womb, I could not hide, and I ran away in fear of being killed once more. And I am alive, after all.

If this is not your doorway, understanding will also not be useful, best to forget you ever opened this page and go look for something else. My words are coming out to scrape the varnish of what is meaningless, so we can unfreeze what is to be revealed in magic.

Open hands cannot grasp. The dance of chaotic is the creative source. Nothing makes sense. We live in absolute absurdity. Can we be humorous enough to realise that and still play cards and games?

I don’t mean to refer to the present situation, but the intrinsic condition of being human.

The question is, do you want to dance?