Mercurial

Whimsy.

Created not to be constant.

Worse, most crave only that stability.

Control.

Wasted effort that leads some by the nose

All the way to the grave.

Some hope beyond.

Souls perch around a glass dome,

Looking in. Looking back.

They shout their advices. Their commands.

Their schemes unfinished. Sour fruit on a dead vine.

Most are trapped in the open air maze.

Bright colors and fear.

Hard floors. Hard walls.

Just enough to give us a sense of groundedness.

From that unstable platform

We leap into the uncontrollable

Hallucination that is our misguided expectations.

No one is in the pews.

Everyone else is in the audience.

From our monad’s pulpit we dance, shiver, and shout.

Scream of your displeasure with displeasure.

Wax poetic about clouds,

Like a child. Like a child.

Heart free of the useless burden

Of self judgment.

If only you judge yourself first, then

You will be free of the opinions of others.

It’s not one way or another.

Not even in the moment.

Your analysis is the lie that cuts through lies.

There is a sad joy in the seeing,

And to the consternation of all,

There is bliss in ignorance.

How fast can you bounce between the poles?

Free of all anchors,

Suddenly you seem to float,

The world roils about you,

Who are

Perfectly still.