The world burdens me.
My shoulders ache under its weight
I make futile attempts to remind them, – my shoulders
Of Atlas who bore the weight of the world.
My shoulders reject my urging.
I plead with the air to give rise to my fall.
It moves over me with indifference.
My attempts at reconstruction fail.
I fall helpless under my despair.
I fall into the silence I cannot bear.
Yet, in the stillness, I am released.
From the doing I know.
This silence invades my body.
Like oxygen, I breathe it in expecting defeat..
My exhale deflates,
My ego impaled like a punctured balloon.
In its absence there is no enemy.
In the silence, no fear.
In the silence, no undone tasks.
No flaws to mask.
I die in its freedom.
I find power in its lack.
Freedom in its consumption.
A constant before time.
The prelude to all movement and sounds.
Its power enfolds me in the moment of Now.
Where I pause to know my nature.
In the absence of myself.