Mind Tales

  Reflect over a loss most of us feel but fail to name. It isn't a critique on all aspects of modernity except one, "living with transaction at its essence." I can hear her breathe, Soft and gentle. Rhythms of care gracefully flow. But suddenly, She is asked to quicken, To hurry. Her rhythms of care slowly lose their rhythm. Breath has become air that enters and exits but forgets to smile and rest. The world is moving on, Faster than humanity can keep up with. In such a world only business  is legitimate and credible. Business in itself is not the poison. It is living with transaction at its essence. Transactions not for collective help. Transactions to leverage aganist humanity. So, it isn't any surprise that breathing too has become transactional. I live. But you don't. I live at your expense and hide it with flowers of "progress" and "ethical growth". And I move on to optimise my life. Make it more productive, More efficient, More worthy of ...

An ode that reads like an ancient hymn straight out of an old archive. Enjoy the simple, ancient, mythic feel.  O Mountain! I am a lone wanderer that waits, Patient for the opening of misty gates, Foam of the sea-like sky, the flowing fates, Its embrace - I know - a touch of cooling warmth. O Mountain! Wisps of air clear to awaken, A silent wait to my breath taken. Yes, you are this rover's abode, A sacred carving to settle all misery and load. Oh, I can see ancient breath clear, Immortal's sight slips away fear. This carrion's death a concern no more, Like Sita's descent, soon to become Nature's lore. O Oros! This orophile's ears hear psithurisms call, Through the dense foliage of life droplets fall, Heralds are to come to Who stands tall, A shaman's architecture, a home in life abound. O Oros! You are a keeper of secrets many, Wisest wisdom worth beyond the penny. You embody Brutus' stoicism, its steady firm, Having stood Kronos' tests, you preach ...