"I Want The One Grey One With The Silver Saddle And Mint Green Mane"

It's deafening. Would you shut up for a moment. Your thoughts, your silence--deafening. I can't hear myself think. The whole world on a carousel.

The carousel. Man's childish and fantastical manifestation of war, tremendously decadent in appearance and elegantly complex in detail. The

carousel is Reality's magic trick; a spinning, musical mockery of man's inhumanity. Beautiful, and relatively blood-free--disguising imperfection with gold-leafed paint and muscled stallions--perfectly tamed to ride in peaceful and consistent motion.

The whole world on a carousel, and me, at the fair too. I went to the fair. Went to the fair; was silent. Silent because I could not hear myself think and could not form my thoughts. I could not hear myself think because They would not shut up. They're thoughts, They're silence--deafening. Mute conversation, no, screams--bouncing into the universe like . Words, precious words, falling out of Their mouths like tiny, rubber

bouncing balls. Bouncing off the ground, off the walls, into the atmosphere, clouding the sky in primary colors; bright, rubber words bouncing everywhere.

Loudly. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Rapid. Vulgar.

I look to the carousel. It spins and there is a shield. No bouncing, rubber ball thoughts. An accordion. And silence. And the sound of motion, slowing. The unwinding of time, weighted in tradition and fantasy and fiction. Realities fictional experience. Spinning, and the people on the carousel are trapped in this bubble--this fake, protected illusion. Spin, spin, on. Never stop, fear of losing. Keep with the clock, keep with the illusion--fight time with beauty and chase away yellowed memory with blurring reality. Drown the sounds of pounding words, Thump. Thud. Thump. Drowned Them out with haunting notes and perfectly circled melodies. Trance like motion, subtle and consistent. Spin and sway away. The whole world, a carousel.

The world, it spins...and the bounce of the words, the bounce of Their words, a perfectly circled melody. Loud and robust--tiny but tuned. Humming and buzzing in constant harmony. Repetitive motion. Slow the day, new the morning, slow the night. Repeat.

And the crowd is so loud I cannot hear my own thoughts. I look to Them. I cannot say what I mean. Rubber balls, bounce, Thud, from my lips and, Thump, to the ground. My smile, a temporary container. "I cannot explain what I mean. It will come to me." It doesn't. Because my mind is on the carousel.

And the rest of the day, my mind is on that carousel. And what does that look like? What thoughts are with me then...my mind looks like this:

Dance with me, in step with the Universe. Look how lovely, look at the people--how beautiful and alive. Look at the people, alone in Their spheres, missing each other, bouncing their words like a child's game. Ah! What is the reality in which people See each other. In which living is living together and words do not bounce off every showing surface but saturate into every piece of matter--satiating all things of Existance with meaning and connection and texturized understanding. Look at me and understand so I can believe this. Look at me look at the carousel.

No?--how about I smile instead.

Oh, pure meaning and glorious connection. Oh, detested definition and constrained comprehension.

This is a picture of my great grandparents. Being one in a moment. Surrounded by Everything in the Universe, and being Everything in the Universe.

We are one. No?

We are matter. We cannot be destroyed, only recycled back and back and back into the universe.

We are energy. We cannot be destroyed, only recycled back and back and back into the universe.

No, wrong again--"we" indicates there are multiple individuals, gathered or grouped together in action or distinction and "we" is separating. There is no "we" because there is no "I" because all is one because all is recycled and equal in worth and importance. The matter and energy in a leaf is still matter and energy, like the matter humans are made with and like the energy humans burn and recycle. The difference is only in the structure. The physical; reality's facade, oh most decadent and embellished universal design by which definition is the only sense of ground and foundation available for communication, for understanding, for sanity. And definition is excellent at separating and distinguishing...misleading. Because definitions grow and shape and always will to each defined individual based in difference in experience and environment and development.

So where is the foundation of true reality if each predefined individual defines each thing differently because we believe that, by someones else's projected definition filtered through our own established process of translation, all things must be defined. And through these "universal" definitions, we build a "universally acknowledged" reality.

...And, if perhaps your definitions are too uncommon, you are not necessarily a radical reformer of thought and perspective...but you are crazy. Mentally insane. You do not know how to define things like everyone else. You are broken. Your definitions are wrong. Your definitions are misleading. Your definitions are not coherent. Your definitions are undefined. A leaf is not a person. I didn't say it was--I meant that the ener--You are crazy. You are confused.

You are not defined.

...I ("I" for translation's sake) will form my own definitions. Confuse myself. Toss out What Is and leave alone Who Is. "I" will approach a You as if oxygen. As if life giving, beautifully structured and perfectly crafted extension of Soul. And a moment later, "I" shall still attempt to relieve you of definition. And "We" can be. Breath and life together.

An Ideal, They call it. To define it, an Ideal.

Let it go. Let it go. Let it...

Just skip to the bottom. And then go and have a banana milkshake.

I have this thing. I've started, yes, a thing. This thing--I sit. I sit and I breathe. Just sit and just breath. I breathe slowly and thoughtfully and fill padded, warm lungs with a flood of thick waves of air and I hold that air in. I hold it in, selfishly. I let the waves of air splash through my entire body, rapid and cool and quick--savoring the rush of motion because I can feel it race through my lungs, my heart, my hands, my knees, my toes, awakening every little cell with a brisk, salty kiss. And then I exhale--forcefully. I exhale and the air does not violently crash out back into the world but flows, warmly, moist and soft, out of my body. Out of my lungs, my heart...my toes. I just sit and just breathe.

Breathing is my new thing. I had not taken a breath before this. I had not taken a breath and felt the urgency, the necessity, the desperation and importance of such a mechanical, natural act.

My body--my body has taken my breaths. My body, kindly, has alway taken care of this "minor" necessity of life. But now, I breathe. My body--she teaches me what to pay attention to. I can make my chest rise and fall and I can see my heartbeat skip in gratification and acknowledgment. I can feel accomplished.

I can feel the other bodies, breathing. Sometimes--I might find another person who is doing the breathing by choice--maybe because, like me, they discovered they love to breathe, or maybe they just know they have to, or even some cases, they just can't seem to make themselves stop. In that case--the breath is heavy, taunting, thick and pounding....I'd prefer the body to breathe for me in that instance.

Breathing. My new thing. Sitting and breathing. And then I begin thinking. And then my thoughts begin to grow and crystalize and complicate themselves, weaving intricately between reality and creation and confusion and realization but then back to breathing and simplicity. The overwhelming feeling of Awe.

I conclude nothing. I cannot tell you the purpose of life or the purpose of trying to define the purpose of life....but I manage to settle my thoughts on dust. Start dust. And imperfections...and definitions...and words, oh beautiful translations and understanding and communication with life. And love...and life....and love...and life...and love...huh.

LOVE: A RESPECT FOR LIFE, OFFERED WITH THE HIGHEST DEGREE OF HUMANITY THAT ONE IS EQUIPPED WITH GIVING.

LIFE: TO LOVE.

Breath. And Waves. And Scar.