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Temple of Meditation

Bon voyage from Art see Ocean

July comes with death for me.

I have a naïve wish every year that it would be when autumn comes inclosing me in darkness.

When there is no hope for the hopeless, like in November.

Awkwardly enough november is instead my birth month.

So when everything falls to the ground & takes its last breaths.

I take my first, no wonder I was a bit hesitant the first thirty ears.

Youd think July would be a soft, warm, sunny skin time.

But no. July has no Mercy for pretension. It eats fantasies for breakfast.

It pulls my hair & slaps my face like a old grim mother punishing the child with a spank.

Either I kneel and confess to my sins or I bite back.

July does not hear my pleading or ferocity.

It still brings death to my feet like the cats leaving their kill on the doorstep.

A cruel gift.


I mourn the dead, not on land but on the ocean.

I grief the souls gone and baptise myself in a cold wave, remembering my name.

Never whom I was, but finding someone new when diving in.

Washing away the old ways, the memory.

The sentiment and nostalgia are for cowards anyway.


Honoring the paradox of space and time, using time and space to build a room for going beyond them.

Here I reside, beside you, within and without you. Near you, afar from you. Before and after you. Always, in all tings, with you.

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