I gather all,
as man,
as spirit.
Joy, fear, decay, all.
An invisible weight that measures strength. A message I sense and extend to you.
A moment I observe as possible and meaningfully not mine. Aware of not being the owner of anything I become but the sole survivor of a thought that occurs from you.
I carry less of the burden of a present time. Instead the space I fill, fills me more and more with the past.
It is as if some, a few, are collectors of purpose. They gather life itself along the path they chose.
I am one of those messengers. A slow and perseverant figure, without talent, without shame, without constraint but the eco of my own truth.
But there’s a demise, a purpose, a place. Somewhere where I need to be, perhaps still alive.
Perhaps not in me.
Surely within the heart of you.
Surely the heart to be.
Still unborn.