12.8.23

Walking into the cold I thought: we are how we move. When I move like a box, I become a box. When I move like straight line, I become a straight line. When I move like a river, I am closer to a river, which is the true nature of things. To write is to become words. To read, I revive the dead. They are living through me and I through them. How to meet my silence, is not a meeting at all, but a reunion. Somewhere inside is a place where nobody can touch. Once I followed the sound of the writing. By writing, I meant this world, which is always returning to itself. Once I was shaped by the ocean and I became something like a wave, which is closer to my true nature. I am in danger of becoming like money; impersonal, isolated, accumulating, illusory, easily traded for another. I am in danger of becoming like violence, which trusts nobody and can be trusted by nobody, which uses morality and then force to say we are not like each other. We are like each other. We come from each other, which is to say we come from the ocean. When I was a wave, I was afraid and then I was not afraid. I could not see the depths beneath me but I could feel them. At times my feet could touch the ground and other times it could not. When I was a wave, I was also salt. I was immense and very small, dispersed in something beyond me. I was everywhere but I could not see myself anywhere. When I tasted the salt on my tongue and in my eyes, I could feel danger and I could feel peace. When I was a wave, I was not ready to be a wave. I forgot about government, power, hatred, desire, and ambition because I remembered death. When I remembered death, I remembered nothing. When I remembered nothing, I became free.