Movement...

Taking a breather from academic type writing...what better a break than one doing non-academic type writing...So, gonna let my fingers travel on...

I wonder, if say whoosh--will the flowers bloom, the lights glow and everything turn bright? Just a breath, would it work?

I walk, among the green stalks of wheat rising upto my waist. I sway my arms to and fro and feel the swoosh of air against me. The flying insects give my face a peck and wander off. As far as I can see, the green grows. Interspersed between are little mounds of brown. Mud platforms for humans--like me--to sit and ponder on the mysteries of the rain, and the soil, and so forth.

I wander over toward one of those platforms and believe that at this moment, I can be anything. So, I pick to be movement itself.

I am the walking...or wait, how else can I be motion. Well for one, I am motion that does not cease--no law of nature can stop me. Why do I move constantly, irrespective of everything else. More importantly, how do I move constantly? Am I circling, or am I random patterns? I choose to be held up in a spot, but changing. Not changing with respect to other frames of reference--but changing and moving within my own frame.

So this much is established--I am still, and have internal motion. No...I am moving, I just don't have any displacement, nor do I cover any distance. Because I am all the distance there ever was, or is, or ever will be.

Now, I guess the next conclusion will be that everything exists inside of me. But no, I dont wish for that--it becomes patronizing and God-like. I have no volume, so nothing can exist inside of me.

I am, and that is all there is to it. I am everything. Whatever I think happens. Right now I am thinking of my world and therefore it exists.

Okay, pause. Walking over to another mud platform for a different view of the green expanse.....

Now I am feeling too much again, back to work...