Set the cross on the hill.
Dig in the stone on the edge of the garden.
Bury your son's navel in backyard.
Taking roots is such an illusion!
Child of God, look at the world with open eyes.
It's been changed in non-stop settings.
It floats like sand,
It flows like water,
It flies like a cobweb.
That's the matter of fact.
We are only guests here, but we behave as if we're at home.
We, tiny creatures woven of vibrations,
are fascinated by the monumentality of this world.
With its rocks, with its oceans, with its tundra and taiga.
But they are also just vibrations of small amplitudes and a huge wavelengths.
Thoughts, mind-forms, images fly out every second.
To the Noosphere? Perhaps.
Then they come back.
Someone writes them down in lines.
Someone puts them to music.
Someone paint them.
The thin world multiplies, spreading its invisible wire.
"Who are you?" - the Man asks himself, looking in the mirror -
"Who are you?"
13.08. 31.03. 2021
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© Copyright: Valentin Luchenko, 2021