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Maple leaf, Inner Circle, Regent's Park

Maple leaf, Inner Circle, Regent's Park

These journeys. Through time, in time. Condensing space, like condensed thought, like condensed milk. A cup of coffee. A way around, avoiding obstacles, another route. To stop and stretch. The familiar. And this glass of water in front of me, a third full, it seems so different from yesterday. Yesterday, so different from today. So much going on around and with the glass of water. Another glass, another water, another day. The other day. My experience and my thinking of experience seem so different. I have an experience of now. Held, embodied. And then, this other experience of now as thinking. How do I think experience? At this moment I don't think my experience through words. Words come to mind; 'wherever you go, there you are', words float by from a movie. Seems long ago. And more words begin to mingle with my moment, sipping this water; 'crazy wisdom', long, long ago; 'suffering', 'shame and guilt', some zen thought-feelings. Shambhala. A non-verbal, non-conceptual practice. And, 'isn't it a pity, isn't it a shame', at that time. And at exactly the moment of emptiness, and suffering, so far away, a pleasure, an enjoyment, a sense of knowing not, and that incredibly deep smile, indelible, imperceptible. Gone.

The glass, the water. Less water, the glass in another position. Seems imperceptible. Things happen. A photograph comes to mind, an experience that that photograph abstracts, it doesn't transcend, it subscends. I put it on Instagram to remind my self in another way. I look. I gaze. Amaze.

A sleep, more or less.

Deserted dreams. So strange the way things have turned out. Walked through these nights and days to a place and time of being born close to the marshlands, as daylight broke, I saw the earth, the trees had burned down, no-one around. A place where we belong? Peace. To care, the brook flows, overnight rains, waters moving faster, the stones roll again, clattering, babbling. Trying hard to settle down, a place of being, some words from a song imperceptibly mingle with memory. These words now, this experience of thinking, can't do justice to that experience, of being.

I journey.
Words loop back on themselves, as though being held, belonging to another entity. I look around, eyes shut, feel for my glass of water, as though being held by another, a melancholy, a suffering, a ground where the smile lies. I open my eyes. Water gone. On my way now.

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