Motion

You have only to watch white clouds charging a moonlit sky
To know everything is change
Nothing is the same from moment to moment
Nothing exists as we think or feel but for a moment
And not as we feel or think
There is no stasis in darkness, not an instant, everything is motion
In dark and light, deeper than surface change
Being change itself
A reason we cannot feel nor see the Cosmos moving
We are all, each of us
The Cosmos moving at such speed the slow moving mind
Cannot apprehend its fury
Only guesses at its magnitude and beauty
The brain, a fleck of a speck of its dust
A tiny crab in this immense sea of stars
Is lost in its own shell of self– but what, how is it lost
In that which has no root in reality, who can find
What we call a self, place a finger on the unchanging soul
When all is motion?
The self, a soul-grasping bit of imagination, the self
The whiteness of clouds, a wind-ripped sky under a winter moon.

sky-cloud-fence-tree-field

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