October got into me. It may seem like I existed before merging, and then it happened. In fact, I only describe the state: October is in me. And these words are ambiguous. As if I exist independently, and there is October. In fact, we are inseparable, that way it is felt. It lasts, but is there a beginning, is there a time for this duration? There is no time in me-October.
I am only aware of what is happening. October does the rest. I am crucified with October. It responds inside me with every move. We are one same whole thing. I am October, although this is not true, because there is a certain self-spirit that is aware of me in October, and of October being in me.
An amazing feature of October is the fusion of calmness and gusts. Peace is poured in nature - and in me. Particularly in October the canopy separating me from October became extremely thin. October's peace is my peace. Here, emphasizing the paradox of the phenomenon of October, in this peace, gusts of the October wind live, appearing suddenly, without warning, but also on time. These gusts and this peace are one whole thing.
The noise of the wind in the leaves responds, resonates in me, especially deep in my chest. The wind flies, raging in the branches. I feel myself vibrating to the beat of those leaves that are shaking in the wind, excitement in me is so deep and real, no words can describe. The thrill of life in a gust of wind. October is in me, and I am in October.
The pungent smell of October air awakens me - and immerses me in special comfort, revitalizes, leads into me, towards me. I write my October, living it with every thought - my October writes me. With precise strokes, October manifests itself in me - from the outside and inside, everywhere, speaking to me with its moments.
The October sun shines all day so as if sunset is about to begin. And air is only air in appearance, but in essence it is a special ether in which glare of light floats, dissolving me in peace of October, finding its way into me with October, into all pores of me-October, into each of our fibers.
I surrender to October. And it is me being that gentle light lost in the leaves. Every moment of presence there is eternal and new. The thinnest, inaudible, but felt music that pervades everything.
My spirit opens itself in October and October - in myself. I alone know this October so, the way I live it, the way I create, write and evince it.
October and myself impregnated each other - in all possible ways and paths. We have sprouted into each other. October breathes in me, I breathe in October.