The depths

I.

You will know truth as by the way it speaks to your depths, such as you know them, and it is this after all we seek - that we shall know our depths, worn about as a familiar blanket, sunk deep into the thought we encounter, and situated upon the precipice of thought and emotion, the collision of our force and its corollary, the notion of self, inasmuch as its self-same encounter resounds the familiarity of truth.

II.

That the depths are differentiated from their lighter forms is self-evident, resembling the play of shadows upon a wall; light and dark, black and white, these are the basic forms of its essence: that the soul seeks itself, and only itself, such as it is, a cosmic yearning for the resemblance of its own form, cast among lots beyond its own control, yet ever-ready to resonate this chord, and among shadows dwelling as long as it finds itself apart, but perhaps able to find in the absence of the binary a domain not of its choosing.

III.

Thus the soul weeps, but also rejoices: The depths are its home.

IV.

Deeper, deeper runs the song, etched upon the edge of oblivion, rising and falling like the waves, themselves a song within a song, perchance a memory to retain, or to find in remembrance a leitmotif half-formed, nascent like a budding rose: The song is itself.

V.

Written on the wall, as the writing always is, the signs are self-apparent: That all things come, and all things go, and all things will come to pass, if only by the grace of the divine, and in this we invest our hopes, our dreams, divest our fears, and form a stable basis for our being, if only for a brief moment of quietude, itself the echo of a long-forgotten memory, yearning to be heard.

VI.

As a measure of caliber we play the game, live or die, gain or lose; as a matter of principle we cast our lots; as a matter of hope we retain the best of our awareness and in our waking days give thanks, such as we are able, or in the realm of ideals would hope to dwell.

VII.

Collisions, and the end of beginnings: To this end we are able, in our better moments, to listen, to hear, to truly hear, words, thoughts, the music of the depths, and it is by this that we sing, raise our voices to the end of the aether, stand and be heard: From the depths, a voice that cannot be ignored: From the beginning to the end, a song eternal, and ever-gently gliding on the waves, the waves of truth, the waves of hope, the waves of a new dawn beginning, never again to fall to abyssal meanderings, simply this: A thought, thought from the depths; a song, sung from the depths; A wave rising, and falling, and forever situated within its own becoming - That this has been established, I hope, dear reader, is the case, and in all good will submit my humble thoughts for your consideration, a simple shadow passing in the night.

My world falls down

It started as a word
Hush now in the distance heard

But somehow now is more than this
Reminisce my fondest wish

Things are going by all the same
Nowhere nothing left to lay the blame

So I pause to think about it now
Deftly thoughts abide what you allow

//allow
//how
//brow

Lay my cards upon the table
Reach out far as I am able

A breath of fresh air
For my weary bones

My world falls down, down down
Turn up the sound, sound, sound

//bass nova

Bossa nova round, round, round
The world falls down, down, down

---

In my dreams I wonder what would you play
In my thoughts I wonder what would you say

Innermost my essence yearns for a-a new day
Half forgotten memory of yose

Contemplate upon reflections in the way
Don't leave now I promise I will stay

Lay my cards upon the table
Reach out far as I am able

A breath of fresh air
For these weary bones

My world falls down, down down
Turn up the sound, sound, sound

//bass nova

Bossa nova round, round, round
The world falls down, down, down