My Romantic Letter to Omega (Universe) – Page 8
VIII. The 8th Wisdom
Gaze at the end of winter
To witness the next, rises
Just Beyond the Rim
In one infinite circularian
A man-made ego
The conscious ones
Now versus its consciousness
*
What does it feels like?
To be able to taste the absolute sweetness? The so-called epithet of valor, a wine from the river of Sanga…?
What does it feels like…
To realize that all your magnificence is nothing but a mere relend-able gift.
It is now your wisdom, versus The Wisdom. Your words, versus The Word. Your standards, versus The Standard
And as lovely as the highness sensation that you probably hold so very dearly… what to be share of it is nothing quite what is seen.
Stay humble,
In the presence
Of the infinite awakening
*
Here goes the pen, again. Slowly, inhabited by life.
My Romantic Letter to Omega (Universe) – Page 6
VI. THE FIRST SANDS.
I awake under the weight of the heavy snow.
The uproars surged up to the air of this cliff, synchronizing in inhuman screams as it slipped through beyond the mountain walls where shadows becomes one with the stratosphere of the night.
Yet I had taken some time to get fixed to my eyes… the soft push of these tiny light-falls instruments from an inevitable height, were the ones very inviting to mine… but even though they were remarkably beautiful… the presence of darkness above would easily made captive every piece of the beauty possessed.
For every slightest sense of light—in this place, could easily perish
In silent curiosity, if you have secretly wonder about it… what to be heard after is the weeping of the moon and the forest. These condemning yet almost delightful howls have manifested into spears of eerie vowels, a very saddening tune to whoever listen to a prisoner of soul.
But why does the harsh winter embedded in this northern land in a quickening state of madness? Perhaps, to trifurcate with our faith. But I assure you to keep your wits as a child even as you are now… Thus by being uncompelled by the conditional nature, your resistance to this sweet illusion is, and always high.
If you would listen to the soars risen from the depths of death — trying to regain the self-returning to the senses…
Just like a code to remark with
Sometime, somehow, in a certain point of your unique track of flight, it will again become somewhat chaotic… and the familiar feeling—the images of being return into this sweet, luscious, tantalizing dreams… (Oh, how they have visited too often in your sleep—)
The idea… the urge of returning…
Would made you shiver
I realize it’d took one long enough to finally see how beautiful everything really is… Shimmering in a twisted circuit of deep, invisible transline — that connects to a placate masterpiece gradation of The Opalized Labyrinth.
Now, if you would stand for awhile and admire the beauty of overcoming these situational emotions…
Then “Now” surely won’t be the day when the mind meets an end.
Be it sunny after the storm… or be it stormy after the sun
I assure you – within everything – there’s a Verge of Gaia
+
A déjà vu – even in a child
Staviolatte
Ω just another daily contemplation 