Words have contradicted their own meaning so many times. Inspiration has lost faith in the calling, time and again. Truth has lost its' way through transition. What we see, we believe. What we see is what is seeming.
Seeming is scheming.
With constantly questioning my being, I am losing pace. A stride I can not cope with.
Le Roi Moore paints the picture with the saxophone; I sit and dissolve in his modern blues.
Is there any need?
Can we run away, back to the tree?
Can the tree even set free?
Are we here for the self or the lack of self?
Purpose unsound. Nothing profound. It's the same, over and around.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
at 11:28 AM
Posted by Hestia