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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