Posts Tagged insight
When you truly listen to people
and you hear what they are,
you will find
that everyone is lonely.
Humans tend to assume that they have a degree of intelligence that gives them awareness that isnt afforded other species.
Criteria that are used to justify this perspective include lack of evidence of empathy, of emotions including fear and sadness, and of gratitude. Or an ability to assess a given context, and to calculate an appropriate response to it.
Every day, visible instances occur that prove these assumptions are just wrong. They imply an arrogance in humanity that is breathtaking. Other creatures are sufficiently sentient to respond to both circumstance and to other creatures as we are. How could they be alive otherwise?
Here’s a small example:
We have to reappraise our relationship with the rest of the world. To imagine that we’re somehow seperate from it is folly. The whole system that we observe and are able to analyse because its systemic, includes us as a key component. As it does every other creature. This is what makes it a system. How to extrapolate this? Discussions about ‘universal conciousness’? Perhaps. How is a component within a system able to see the system from outside? We can’t know this external perspective. We can only know what we see and experience, and deduce. And we can clearly experience sentience and awareness in other creatures, even with our own emotions and intuition, as opposed to powers of analysis. And deploying this experience usefully, must surely lead us to deduce that we arent a seperate cognitive function of the universe but just a part of a mathematical curve that, if we allow it, will extrapolate. And this is the ultimate goal of evolution.
So, some compassion and respect is called for I think… and a little humility. Otherwise we risk compromising the very system that defines us.
80% of the world’s population live in what any middle class westerner would regard as abject poverty. Many live in destitution.
So many people know intuitively that they don’t belong where they are, even those who were born where they are.
So many are looking for that home, that small place where they belong in contentment, with family and friends and pets, and a small garden of their own. And all of these people are the daughters and sons of mothers and fathers, and they’re brothers and sisters and cousins and aunts and uncles. Just like everyone else. Like you and me.
What is it then about the way we run things that allows so many people to be so unhappy? Everything required for everyone is there and available. If we’re so clever, why are we not able to moderate our behaviour to account for all of our real needs, rather than for the imagined needs of just a few? What would it take?
Sitting in bath warm water,
waves lapping up my thighs,
leaning on one hand on the yielding sand,
watching the moon sink into the sea.
The natural world is all that’s real.
The rest is construct and hubris.
Watching that sinking moon
over the turning world,
and the whirling cosmos of a trillion lights,
all ticking step by step in time.
And then it came to be known
amongst all sentience
that the Original Source is me,
and we are the Original Source.
I wear my tears like
a Warrior who weary,
has become gentle.
Humanity has to find a way of massively reducing its per capita use of resources – be that energy, minerals or land – or we actually do face a potential reality of the collapse of modern civilisation. This isn’t hysteria, or the imaginings of a treehugger. It’s simple reality. We have to find a way of living with less impact. And career politicians are not going to achieve this. They can’t, however well intentioned, because our voting systems would not allow them to do what is required. So its down to each of us, across a world of 7.3 billion people, most of whom live in abject poverty. It’s quite a challenge. But the first step has to be for everyone to start to open their eyes and read, and let go of pre conceptions, and political assumptions. The way we live now isn’t the only way. It wouldn’t actually take much to make the adjustments required. More local – work, travel, food etc. – would probably do it.
With proper attention and investment into developing country cities to provide clean energy and vertical farms.
It can be done, but we really need to move now, and even then, it may be too late if certain greenhouse gas release mechanisms have kicked off as a result of existing warming. We can’t tell yet. But we have to assume that there’s still a chance, whilst there might be one.
So many of our great cities are surrounded or permeated by squalid poverty – tin shacks and people shitting in the street where children play. Humans are more than this. What we regard as the lowest forms of mammalian life don’t live like that. Rats.
How have we allowed this to happen thus far? A revolution is required, in people’s aspirations and expectations. And in how we interact. And how our societies, given that hierarchies will emerge, are structured (and they’re not God given things; we make them) to ensure that all of us are at least warm and fed. The rest is frippery and excess luxury. Fine if it isnt made available at the cost of the squalor of others.
This is a poem.
I can say whatever I like.
Poetic licence and all that.
I can say without fear of ridicule
that I am lonely and mystified by life.
The whirlpools of logic and illogic
and unfathomable stupidities.
And the wonders and astonishing things.
Aspects of grand realities
that seem distant and huge.
And I’m allowed to confess that I cry,
often and loudly,
because I’m a two sided coin.
And other things too.
The sense of smallness
that makes me gently humble as I look around.
That sense of contiguity with all that is
that occurs occasionally.
My smallness and my scope.
My all encompassing modest place.
Watching wise if I’m lucky,
defined by my context,
laughing and crying without doing either.
Over drab hills held down
by scudding clouds,
a gap opened and sun’s rays shone down.
Splitting into a million colours
through a million tiny drops,
as the light of a star showed itself to us.
Its million aspects viewed with awe
by the only entity capable of seeing.
So see yourself like this.
A happy soul is one
that’s learned to let go.
Like a seed from a dandelion head
in a sunny breeze,
that let go
of its anchor point
and turned to face the breeze
and the skimming land below.
To arrive where what is.
All we can see of ourselves,
that tells our tale,
is our hands.
Smooth and then
suddenly not so.
This process of
the compression of one’s life
cannot be seen
by seeing yourself.
That would be to try
to describe your face
without a mirror.
But you can see
the hands that lie there
looking back at you,
and they tell no lies.
Wrinkled a little now,
they represent your life.
Its good and bad
and ultimately tired understanding.
If you wonder why you exist,
It’s because life is a fundamental component
Of an inevitably evolving universe.
As fundamental as hydrogen or carbon atoms.
A reflection not of bits but of process.
Of how these and others interact.
And of the evolution of these interactions.
And as this interaction evolves,
It acquires ever evolving conciousness.
If you want to know how to be happy,
Understand this fact.
One life everywhere
So look skyward and see
That one day we’ll blend.
And at that point
The discreet existences we all know
Will come to an end.
As entropy finally converts all matter
To nothing more than understanding
And everything finally stops.
Because there’ll be nothing more to know.
The truth is that as you get older, the old illusions fall away. The trivia you once aspired to, become worthless, or at least worthless in your heart of hearts. Ignore the false heart that’s fed by those outside. You become someone who’s worth more than them.
You don’t have to be old for this insight to occur. You could be just 16. Or you could be 84. It doesn’t matter. What this process is, is the emergence of an understanding. It might be triggered by something you read, or thought, or was told, that grew into something bigger that belongs to you now because only you really see it, even though you can’t describe it.
It might be an understanding that is the purpose of your life.
Odd that God, or whatever force that drives what is, should ask so little of us. Given what it’s given.
If you’re lucky, and you succeed in gaining such an understanding, I hope that when you’ve moved to a different state, you’ll be kind enough to look over your shoulder and give me a hint. Hopefully with a smile.
Once I was part of something flat
That lapped upon a shore that resisted.
Then I found myself lifted up
And up and soaring
Over a golden beach and curving trees,
And then I fell forward too fast
And the beach disintegrated across my face.
And now I simply go with the flow,
Up and down this unredeemable beach.
So complex you make
Your life and its words to be.
Guided though it flows.
In the mirror there’s an echo
Of light and of insight.
Something I might become
If I don’t try harder.
Always try harder.
With half an eye
To that place over there
Where you lie in a hammock,
Being fed grapes
By that girl you fell in love with
And never knew.
A man still learning,
And the wiser he becomes
The harder it is to live.
If I were a fly on the wall
What would I see?
What’s my perspective?
Do I see an area of moving stuff?
As though I were part
Of the sea looking up
And seeing part of a wave.
Do I see a bleating thing there
That sees through slitted eyes
A world that’s always wrong?
Or do I see the icy flow of life
Flow past it like stream over rock?
As it sits shining,
Sticking up into the flow
And casting a shadow
Like two fingers inserted
Into a beam of light.
A separate thing experiencing
Just myself in relation.
Do I see a transparent thing?
Drifting through some dark ether?
Belonging to the vast space
Between our atoms.
Some say we’re chemistry.
Some say we make the chemicals.
But whatever truth it is
That you behold
It’s unlikely to be
I wanted to see,
And a writer said just be.
But what does that mean?
Maybe the good bits
Are so good that we must pay
A pain price elsewhere.
Whether the majority of us know it or not, humanity is undertaking massive genocide of hundreds (actually it’s thousands) of species of other creatures. We are proactively creating the Sixth Great Extinction, the last one being of the Dinosaurs. In doing so, we’re destroying the very biosphere that supports us. We are without doubt, unfathomably stupid.
The last Great extinction occurred 66 million years ago. And it took at least a thousand years, probably several thousand. If you map the lifetime of the Earth to a 24 hour clock, humanity has been around for about 4 seconds. In this blink of the planet’s eye, we’ve eliminated at least a third of the world’s forests and hundreds of thousands of species. If we’re so stupid as to commit collective suicide through religious and political dogmatism and ignorance, that’s our choice (and it is a choice). But we have no right to take every other species down with us.
And all this derives from our value systems. The way we perceive what wealth is, and how we manage it. Money. Particularly debt based money. And the externalisation (leave the consequences for someone else to clean up) of the bad impacts of wealth acquisition. The conventional political right and left both maintain these value systems, and many religious perspectives, especially in the US, support and advocate them under the guise of ephemeral supposed ethical standards like ‘freedom’ and ‘the work ethic’. How many corporate CEOs and bankers attend church every Sunday? Did you know that the pay of CEOs has risen 127 times faster over the last thirty years than 99% of the US population? What do you expect the consequences of such greed and inequity to be, particularly at a global scale, if not conflict? And as this money wealth is squirrelled away or squandered on yachts and stupidly big houses, it’s unavailable for such things as building cities that are worth living in for everyone, for education and the encouragement of more enlightened perspectives, the protection of the very biosphere that contains and supports us, and every other crying need that the fruits of all our labour is supposed to allow us to cater for. Yet the religious right encourage it.
Factor in other emerging crises like the impending failure of our medical systems through antibiotic resistance, shifting and more extreme climate events, ocean acidification and the consequent destruction of marine food resources, desertification and water shortage.. and a host of others, virtually all caused by humanity, and there’s good reason to believe the better minds than mine that predict global ecological, societal and economic collapse within just a few decades.
That transformation from potential
To manifest form isn’t easy.
And as life progresses
You’ll know the same experience
Again and again
As you rise and fall and rise again,
Only to be blown to pieces
When you least expect it.
But there is a circularity
That you’re permitted to rely upon.
When you rise, then you will fall.
So when you fall
Then you will rise.
Become wise at
The uppermost point in this sine wave.
Grab the moment and start again.
It’s not about luck or knowledge.
It’s about timing.
I knew a life once that rang true I think.
I know a life now that rings true I think.
I will know a life that’s true when
I know a view that advises me well.
I know a life that’s passing me by
Like a river carrying blossom
That I’ll never see again.
Insight happens now.
Then time’s writhing fingers take
It away from me.
Writhing curling fog
Taking and hiding from me
The true world I saw.
Whoever you are.
Standing opposite me
And watching me
As I watch you.
The gap between us
doesn’t exist though.
In some place
We’re the same mind.
Knowing in this being alive,
The other side of the dichotomy
So we may know the whole.
I’m listening to Bach. There are two ways I can listen… one is in a thoughtful way, where I assess the music and consider how it’s affecting me and ponder its complexity.
The other way involves shutting down any form of analysis and stopping thinking all together. Then the music washes over me as though I were lying on a beach, letting waves break over my body. Now the music is an occurrence that blends me with the world and the universe around me. Now the boundary between my skin and everything else becomes less significant. As the vibrations of the music pass through the air and into me, I become part of the same contiguity. Part of the vibrating air. Part of the world around me that’s vibrating with these sounds that evoke in my consciousness, emotional responses and deeper perceptions.
How can a mere vibration through air induce me to tears? There’s something happening that is profound and revealing. Something that hints at the true nature of what I am. I am contiguous with everything else, if I let myself be so. I am capable of becoming part of something so much greater them the self contained package that part of me sees me as.
There is an underlying intelligence in all that is, and I am part of that. This material manifestation that I find myself in is wonderful, but it’s a temporary thing. A necessary lesson. Required in order to understand the vastness of the underlying power. To experience the material is to understand the transcendent that powers it. We live in order to make sense of what is. There are always two aspects to everything. The transcendent cannot be without its material opposite. And to know the transcendent, we need to experience the opposite, the material manifestation. And that is why we are alive.
Looking out of the rear window I saw
The world receding in integers of white lines.
Each passing at rapid rhythm.
I turned and looked forward
And saw the same moments approaching me
At the same speed and with the same rhythm.
Then I looked at the place I was in now
And saw things at a speed I understood
As time passed unseen beneath me.
The only moment that mattered then
Was when I saw the look in her eyes.
Can you describe yourself
Without a mirror?
Is your image of yourself
A curvy fairground version
That’s merely what you want,
And that you’re what’s contrived as
You raise yourself up or down?
I’ll bet you have no idea
Who you are
Or what you are.
A mind borne mirage
That you choose to believe in
And that floats
In a world of your own making.
So it probably doesn’t matter.
Because the world you think you live in
Will also shimmer ghost like above
Some imagined horizon.
The river runs fast.
Faster than your perceptions,
And you start to drown.
Rise up above it.
Now look down and see it whole.
Your start and your end.
The bit in between
Is bound by landscape
And flows as it must.
Don’t cry and don’t laugh.
Wait for the true view.
Bit drunk perhaps.
When I wonder why the world can’t always comprise
Golden leaves and warm wind
That offer soft suggestion.
But the underlying crust is hard.
And I always move in too wide an arc.
So I crash and splinter,
Shards spread wide,
Each a dissipation of my potential.
And so wide spread thin
Unable to think
With sufficient wisdom.
A warm wind blows that shakes trees
And sets golden leaves free to roam.
Transition time now between what was grown
In such surety of purpose,
And the dying and the melding back.
I thought I knew how to be once.
But the seasons changed
And my solutions lost relevance.
They acquired a different beauty
That crumbled and snapped at the slightest stress.
Now they lie in the dirt.
Rotting with promise of new leaves
For the next generation,
Whilst I look on bewildered,
Wondering where my dreams went.
May my children not make the same mistakes.
Purpose is an illusion meant
To defraud us into believing we have value.
And then turning a corner I saw the moon
Hanging orange in the sky like an upturned half melon.
Silver slivers of cloud ghosted each side
Like angels either side of a god.
I stopped and watched and in that moment soared
Up there where the angels fly,
Dipping down again across the dappled brown land
Divided into little patches with fences around.
A blacker curve cutting across the sky
Told me to rise and I rose in an arc with fingers splayed wide,
Up through the angels.
Up past the god.
Up into a space all of my own,
Where I stopped, sat quiet and contemplated
The worlds of gods and men around me.
Is not what we’ve been made from.
It’s our view forward.
Sometimes slow ponder
Is needed to understand
Stop to consider
The sighing life around you.
Instead hear its song.
When I’m walking through the beautiful world,
And I suddenly see the uniformity.
The same stuff and consistency,
Those moments that last so long
And yet you always forget.
When you know with absolute certainty
The true nature of everything
And its contiguous homogeneity,
And that your place is so small.
As soft water crashes onto hard, dark rocks
There are two ways to be.
One resilient and firm.
Convinced and sure and resolute.
The other fluid and waiting.
Seeking a shape that feels right.
One so convinced.
One waiting to be so.
One that drives
And one that wants to enable
And to be wise.
The right way, as always,
Is to see the benefit of the blend.
Whilst resolute in doing.
To do wisely is the challenge.
There’s no wiser view
Than that of a poor person
Who yet can laugh.
As I pondered the madness of the world
With its discordant harmonies that jar my senses,
A small moth alighted on the wall opposite.
Such exquisite perfection in shape and form.
Beautiful and pretty and small.
And perfectly symmetrical.
And more complex than anything
I could ever conceive
Or worry about.
An instant component of my view
That wasn’t there a moment ago.
Shame. I’d thought I’d understood just then.
But this whirling thing of such complexity
Flitted quietly by and landed there.
Just like that.
And changed my view.
Sat at my PC,
Watching a world supposedly
At the tips of my fingers.
A bee lies dying on the windowsill,
Sun splashed flowers a few feet away.
The world suddenly seems ethereal.
Thin and without substance.
A matrix of chance webs
Strung out and interconnected,
But thin and friable and translucent.
A small distance between
One strand and another.
Suspended in a pink light void.
And there I sit like a fly caught,
Struggling in my small and quivering way.
If I broke free I’d fall
To land caught on another strand
To struggle and look up at
Where I’d been.
And the light around me would remain
Still and pink and translucent.
The truth lies somewhere
In the constancy of the spaces between
The places to which we become attached.
And then as he sat
With his mouth pressed hard
Into his fist,
His eyes glazed
By the fogs of mystery,
He knew himself suddenly
In a glimpse of something overarching,
As part of an homogenous thing
Throbbing with the essence of what is.
Contiguous with all around him.
Just for a moment.
And his eyes grew moist,
Blurring his physical vision
Even as his insight
And his heart swelled
And his mind soared.
Everything that ever was or will be
Happened in an infinitely small moment.
And then what was aware decided to consider it.
And that’s when time became.
One day there’ll be a world
Where people understand the commonality
Of their experience
And recognise the interdependence
Of their lives
With all others and
The contiguous nature of nature
That ensures a similar fate
For all despite
Any mad conception
Of difference from each other.
I had the temerity to laugh at her
As she slid silently down through industrialised air
And sat there watching me.
Her shimmering wings lighting the fog
That draped the air around her.
Under a wilting tree with one small apple
Clutched tight in my hand I sat and watched
This apparent apparition congeal
From thin air.
She held up a mirror and I saw myself
I saw a man.
Not one good or bad.
But one that looked at me
Quizzically with eyes that wondered why.
And then I heard myself sigh.
I turned away from her and saw instead
A land of rolling green hills
And hard working people
Who lacked the time to pay attention
To the finer aspects of sparkling wings.
They couldn’t see the beauty.
All they saw were their hands.
Wrinkled and painful
With the toil of living well.
I turned to look at her and she nodded slowly.
She was an ideal that stood proud
From our aspirations.
And as we laboured our way to oblivion,
She stood there shining in the sky
Invisible to all but a few who stood to inherit the earth.
The moment where I am now
Offers neither hope nor despair.
It’s merely a place where
I contemplate without involvement
A future over which I have no control.
Like a leaf blessed with consciousness
That sees itself floating hither and thither
On an autumn breeze.
Sparkling sun flashing and flickering
Through warm summer air that vibrates
With life and change and smells and colour.
Understanding as I drift down for a short while
That sees the truth between life on a branch
And the musty ground that promises
Slow integration with something
It’s a small insight.
Lends little to wisdom but something to understanding.
I was there and I’m going there.
It’s the only insight that I’m ever likely to really know.
And even then
I’ve had to work so hard to see it.
Do you know how an internal combustion engine works?
Its life begins with the turn of a switch by some intelligence.
This completes a circuit that leads to a bright spark
At just the right moment when oxygen
And fuel come together like a sudden insight
And ignite to make an explosion that forces
A heavyweight thing that would otherwise sit
Lugubrious and implacable,
Refusing to move.
Sometimes when I’m down
And my implacable mechanisms refuse to move,
I struggle to produce a spark.
Life seems stark.
My engine’s dead and as I consider
It seems I may be so too.
So what’s failing?
The engine or the intelligence?
Sitting there in that waiting room
In that garage with six other people
All staring straight ahead
I sat quietly by myself
Inside my head.
How daft it was we that had nothing to say.
Even though we did.
But six strangers dare not.
One Irish man though who couldn’t stand
Without his short stick spoke up.
His life was worth speaking of.
And did he speak of it?
On and on and on he went,
This happy man who loved his wife
And his life.
This plasterer who knew
Every way to make any wall smooth.
He had wisdom
Did this droning man
That at first I made myself politely
And as he spoke I became transported
Into a world that was smaller but wealthier
He was a happy man.
And I was not.
And his happiness derived
From not knowing too much,
From being what he was
And not thinking about being more.
Actually it’s true.
It is possible to reach
That suicide may as well
Be the way as not.
I didn’t used to believe it.
But now I’m there,
I see that all those things
That seem so important
But simply are not.
Suddenly there appears
A way of seeing
People and the world around
That seems distinct.
A view of the world that’s
Dispassionate and apart.
And then in seeing such,
One has to compare one’s life
With those others around
That seem so sound.
How could my life have become
As such a small token
But it’s true. We’re none of us
True in any real sense.
We’re mere passing things
In a general sweep of effect.
Tiny by comparison
To the wider view.
I always knew I was different.
And living in the world we’ve made
Means accepting certain norms
And behaving accordingly.
Whatever culture dominates.
I can’t do that.
A broken branch crunched underfoot
Next to the bole of a massive tree
That rose like a sign from the sodden earth,
Alive and being and strong and true.
And I knew in a flash something deep that slid
Away from my grasp as I moved on.
Einstein said that energy and matter
Are all the same and are one another.
Some smooth and seamless confluence then,
Of all existence like endless ocean
That drew that tree to be growing there.
But if its stuff was the same as light
Then what was that which was its life?
Is life just coincidence of energy as form?
Or is it something beyond that source?
Is life independent and something else?
Or are light and life and the motion we see
The same seamless singularity?
You, me and the tree
That blossoms and bubbles and forms on a whim.
Some chaotic prompting that just happens to be.
Are our pain and love and the suffering we see,
The same stuff as stars and infinite space
All happening at once in the same only moment?
I saw real truth in that moment then.
That life-force arises like anything else.
It’s part of the same seamless energy state.
We’re all one thing as we see ourselves
Alone and frantic and striving to make
The small universes we see as our own.
Foolish illusions that make us our pain.
We’re just meant to be and the energy
That sits like a god doesn’t know,
He sits and he farts and he pleasures himself
By causing the trees and the galaxies
And laughing aloud at the curious thought
Of mankind being made in his image.
You gracious bird that flies and swoops
Through clear ways that give such view
Of all our lives down here on solid ground.
You cry so loud as you dive and take
The lives of lesser folk living their way
In quiet certitude.
Is it glee that makes you shriek triumphantly?
Perhaps the lives of us earthbound sorts
Are worth less than your kind that soar
And see and know every move we make
To escape your shrewd eye.
You defy and spy our every move.
But I still believe that my life
Is more to me than yours to you.
So let me be and let me fly my way
And add to the world that man may be
And sigh in awe
And in harmony.
Except true union needs that you must kill
Me and my kind and I’m condemned to move
And hide in my slow way.
To try and live another short day.
For I am small and you have grace,
Size and understanding.
Let everyone know that the world we know
Belongs to you birds who see
Our great pretence of being what we’re not.
You Greek gods that float so languid
And smirk at our slow squirm down here.
Please see that we are part of a brotherhood.
As I die for you please give me thanks
That I play my part in your sweet life.
As I become you,
I’ll fly there through
Those careless clouds too.
And so I ponder the why of my life
And I talk to theirs and cry with them
And it comes clear that we don’t know.
To provide for our children is an oft heard cause
But why I ask should I devote my life
To helping them see the same questions?
Round and round this would go if I don’t find a way
To break away free and see
A way that answers questions.
It’s not my children’s duty. They look to me.
I have one life like a passing storm,
Full of wind and thunder and great events on my scale,
That should bend me like a tree to learn something.
I live only now like a flower that opens to the sun
And accepts the rain when it happens.
A thing of the moment that should acquire the weight
Of the scales of experience.
But not be weighed down.
Rather grow in substance and know.
As the life that we see pops into existence
On the whim of some collective mind.
As a drop of water forms part of an ocean
And screams its own identity as it dies
In some greater collective power that is God.
We should see this phenomenon in our everyday lives
And know the illusions for what they are.
The nature of us is as all else.
Ephemeral and transient.
Some whim of the mind of a God that wants us to know him
As the whole needs the knowing and the love of it’s constituent parts.
As we move on through thundercloud shadows
And glowing green growth that shimmers with life,
We play a part in a kaleidoscope of playful
Particulate fantasy of the moment
That is mostly of our own making.
And when we die we move back down
To that that sallow sea of parts that seeks to rejoin
Our ego with the main flow of life that is always.
Then hopefully we will have learned something
To add to the general pool.
One day we’ll rise as the one that we are
In one crystal harmonious note that sings
At the right frequency
And resonates with all that is.
Bright eyes dulled reveal inner tears
As fledgling wings find the folly of existence.
To flutter in vain against forces unknown
And to break and be wounded
In pursuit of grace.
But bright eyes can also see pure.
And through staying true to their real sense
Can fly high over what we see round us.
By being so pure they can see the real way
Of a world become clouded
To us who have lost how to see.
Subjecting ourselves to our own made poison
That obscures our own natural truth.
World weary we’ve let understanding
Defile the original view.
I think I may be
Some smoothly blended entity
Merged with some other
Seamless contiguity as one.
I don’t believe in the space
Between me and all others.
There are too many strands
Of coincidence and coordination
For any of us to be discreet.
Whoever heard of a bit of a dance,
Or a fragment of swirling fog,
Or a drop of water underwater in an ocean.