A trip, a falling down,
hands reaching to grasp,
to clasp at anything
to stop or at least slow
the downward flow,
all the while picking up speed,
fear seeds sprout and grow
on a descent beyond and below
the known comfort zone,
thrown headlong, stripped,
nothing to grip, all falls away
as rock bottom introduces
an austere and spartan décor
with nothing more than
bedrock on which to stand.
Some may search
for a rope to climb
to a higher perch,
to move up and out
of fear and doubt,
to leave this
deafening silence
devoid of chit and chat
of this and that,
overlooking this
opportunity
for blissful unity
And some may
use this featureless land
to recognize a detachment
between seer and seen,
insight revealing that
‘This’ does not seek
to replace or rebuild
but remain wildly the same,
the player the played
in this grandiose game,
all forms from no form,
all names from no name.
