Now

Wild in a dream, the movement in the moment is given zest. I put my mind to sleep, for a rest that is overdue. Life is a aflame in its possibility, constriction is in bed with the mind, and the heart breaks through, its eyes are on fire with longing and creativity, and the day stands lateral to the present moment, it is somehow alien, to the present feeling. Time is a memory that will not be remembered, all there is, is now, and the feeling of this particular now. And the feeling is the sense, that grasp of sensuous now. There is no escape nor can there be, from the escape that the feeling explodes into the sleeping mind. Eyes, live to dwell in mystic life, eyes that have smiled and eyes that have cried. there is sun in the rain, and it attacks its shower its downness. And possibilities cling to the sun, and the sun inspires, it acts as a guardian, it radiates into some kind of magic. And there is magic in the stillness, and then the stillness is in motion and it succeeds. It lives.