By Aida Muturia

In reckless abandon.

I s-i-t.

Downloading the cosmos.

Dimensions forgotten.

Eternity, a moment.

Creation’s vibration.

You ask me.

Who are you?

What do you do?

Where do you come from?


I burn.

In still surrender.


No identity. No attachment.

Not even a name.

In  s-t-i-l-l-n-e-s-s’ lap.

Limited bequeath’s infinite.

Just b-e-i-n-g still.

Patterns, untwine.

Bondages, fragment.

Questions, dissolve.

A burning.

Of meanings.

Sitting s-t-i-l-l.

Awakening to self.

That which I am not.

So who I am remains.

A space emptied of.

Ego. Personality. Materiality.


Just one with t-h-i-s.

For moments a piece.

Celestial secrets murmured.

To a willing piece of life.

Until I am Be-ing.

Yet now, be-coming.


J-u-s-t | s-i-t-t-i-n-g | s-t-i-l-l.

No more dramas played.

Nor faces portrayed.

Just A.


A knowing.

A distance.

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