It doesn't matter. The mind continues.
"The time is an illusion," wise people said that.
I look into my life, life before, life ahead,
The dreamy quality of coming and going.
All is in flux. All is transitory.
The consciousness remains.
Tell me how to cut the water of river in half,
Show me the way to divide time.
The continuum of time is endless.
Not here, not there.
The energy manifests and changes; I can feel it.
I am not too bright, I cannot see far,
I don't know what is supposed to be. What's coming.
The memory of time is deep in the forest,
The green moss and stone walls scattered,
In there I left my flute,
But the melody still echoing.
Acrylic on canvas. 23 x 17 in.
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