I speak of incompleteness, in completeness there is nothing, no giver and no taker, and no need.
In completeness there is no beginning and no end and no interruption, but eternity is only in incompleteness.
Completeness is self-sufficiency, completeness is mere, completeness is That ...
"I cognise, therefore I am", once said,
I turn backward/downward from the Whole,
I step down to admire, on the wings of an ibis,
In my temple I walk, the echo of my steps: prayers from me to me,
In this vast, yet small chamber, I look.
In completeness I am an entire horizon,
In my temple I look,
Now I see eternity and ubiquity and imagery,
How can it not be?
And the ibis's eyes follow me, and as if they are my fear of losing me,
They look me everywhere I look,
So nothing is new, and nothing becomes, and everything is me.
I take a spark,
I hold it between my fingers,
I split it, I step back,
But it cannot split, it is me,
Now that it looks two and a distance... what is in between?
Imagery of motion is more incomplete,
The Cosmii have become,
I spread them, I fold them,
They are beautiful, yet frightening, what is in them? perhaps my dreams,
I want to know in the distance in forgetfulness,
There is joy after the pain.
Five Equal Eight
Out of directionlessness and numberless oneness, upon facing, I look, of desire of cognition:
Three faces: one facing and two on either sides,
For once I'm a trinity, I see direction,
And duality is my drop,
So I count: 1,3,2,5
And it is said: "He turned the alpha to omega, and the Omega remained solitary, then He turned every alpha to an omega, and the Omega remained solitary, then He paired every omega with an alpha, and the third Omega remained solitary",
Hence I am Five in my temple,
So there are four: of two and two,
And on the Circumference I am hence Eight, of two and two and two,
And form and colour and aroma and sound and kind... are numbers, I remember so they become,
And becoming is remembrance, and forgetfulness is in the scene,
And remembrance is coming back in the Scene.
When the animal, hungry in the wild,
Crushes frail bones and spills warm blood,
To satisfy a craving: I am the eater,
I am what's eaten, and it's I who've taught.
And when the blossom, after a long
Chilling winter, displays colour and finesse,
Where does it come from, to fruit, to grow,
To summarise the colours of the heavens,
The aromas of the spring, the sweetness of the sap;
Of weight significant it breaks off the tree:
I am the apple, I am the gravity, I am the rock
Upon which I beach.
And the planet journeys in darkness and void,
Round the sun there is light and warmth,
And the scathing wind of dust, ice and fire
Cannot relent, but neither can the pull of gravity.
How many orbits does it orbit, and how many spins?
Through the distance across the ellipses, her lover
Journeys in anticipation of a rendezvous.
The zest for love orbits the orbits,
The desire for pleasure synchronises the paths,
And close they come after millennia of millennia,
But the encounter is brief, and the pleasure short lived:
I am the planets, I am the orbits, I am the forces
Of attraction and repulse.