"It is not how the world is that is mystical, but that it is"*

Wet leaves swim in the breeze;
everything is as it is, yet
nothing is ever how it seems:

As green falls to greet deep substance,
far above the breathing trees,
birds oscillate through waves unseen;

insects teem, mammals dream
& Gaia abounds with
collective recollections echoing

through space & time.

Ceaseless interaction,
constant inconstancy & change;  
the finitude that births infinity;

all that is beyond me, just as
there is an outer limit to all things,
beyond which others limits persist:
 
the world consists of what
does & does not exist.





* Ludwig Wittgenstein

Alive

Here we’re
            alive.

Here we are as we love & complain,
orgasm & menstruate;
vomit & piss & waste our hate
on the smallest of things.

Here we are
            with or without
mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters;

comrades or enemies;
consumers or revolutionaries*,
            attack or defence,
for or against:

reasons so solid yet insubstantial
at the same time.
 
An accident upon infinite accidents,
so improbable
as to constitute a miracle,

here we’re alive
                to the glorious light:

your life is not a cage, a stage
or a performance,

                it’s just an accident.

You’re alive, & one day you will die

So…laugh until we burst**?

*Those Anarcho Punks Are Mysterious – Against Me!

**Idioteque – Radiohead