The shamisen player plucks drops with screaming faces in them
Little notes of confusion ringing out into life
We hold no space for the melodies of others
Too busy keeping ears cupped to the clocks at night
I met a little boy when I was a little boy
Together we reached the eye of the hurricane-
We reached the void
And he grinned knowing nothing and everything together
We begin calling it naivete, we end calling it forever
It’s silence
The foundation of all peace
Hope is only a squirm when it’s not at ease
The little boy was known for smiling and belief
That little boy that I once knew as me
He wrote that no matter what he would always be
A melancholy thought adrift a raging mad sea
Peace
Despite the wind and waves and watery deeps
The way the drops scream with no relief
They crack upon one another like shards of glass
Shattering and rejoining and feeling horror at their past
But an individual defined by others learns the truth at last
At the end and the beginning
It’s just water, no drops
It’s pure presence with no thoughts
Neither just motion nor calm
All glass and no shards
The confusion is the temporary dread of separation
The enduring drive to be different
To be something
To be ancient
Little do we know, only sentient for the moment
There is no defining line between the rain and the ocean