3:07 A.M. The laughter of chaos erupts from the heart
of stillness, and is not other than stillness. My tears are both salty and
tender, springing from the root of paradox. The rougher the husk of time, the
sweeter the fruit inside, with an everlasting sweetness. All the nightmares are
out, running wild in street and forest. They are free. Which is why I fall so
easily awake, not asleep. In the night of Kali, bad dreams flower into a world
of darkling rainbows, intense, terrible, instantaneous. Yet this only cleanses
the seed, hollowing the Watcher. From the holy blackness between heartbeats, I
witness the whirlpool of stars. I repose in the silence of not knowing why.
This is the silence that feeds my soul.
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