27/07/2024
The life of the solitary, he cannot tell you, since the splendor of his garden is so abundant. He appears to you to be poor in spirit and in life. He gives you a small insignificant fruit, which has just fallen at his feet. It appears worthless to you, but if you consider it, you will see that this fruit tastes like a sun you could not have dream of. It gives off a perfume which confuses your senses and makes you dream of rose gardens and sweet wine and whispering trees. And you hold this one fruit in your hands dreaming, and you would like the tree in which it grows, the garden in which this tree stands, and the sun which brought foward this garden.
And you yourself want to be that solitary who strolls with the sun in this garden, his gaze resting on pendant flowers and his hand brushing a hundredfold of grain and his breath drinking the perfume from a thousand roses.
Dull from the sun and drunk from fermenting wines, you lie down in ancient graves, whose walls resound with many voices and many colors of a thousand solar years.
When you grow, then you see everything living again as it was. And when you sleep, you rest, like everything that was, and your dreams echo softly again from distant temple chants.
You sleep down through the thousand solar years, and you wake up through the thousand solar years, and your dreams full of ancient lore adorn the walls of your bedchamber.
Then you also see yourself in the totality.
a solitary, a gift and yourself 🐸💫