Ataraxia

Yes, it is is-ness.

Yes, it is is-ness and we have need of the awareness of it when it is least evident in the minutes of our moments.

I am one pixel of humanity. My heart is one of many, alive and no longer alive. There is such a grand inevitability of numbers, there is no point in counting.

I value human contact. I derive hope and I savour the pleasures of hoping in the way I relate to communion with the unending oceanic calm in my heart of hearts.

I bring into existence the image of myself afloat in an oceanic cosmos of calm.

What presumption is it to choose to float in oceanic calm?

First? The unwet waters are terrifying as drowning in unknowing. Burning alive has the merit of a sensory flash between life and oblivion. Inside kilometres of stifling unbreathability I can be free to choose to think.

Second and last? The baby, the youngster, the adult, the one beset with the inexorable advance of decrepitude, each and every aspect of my existence has the right to enter  ataraxia with no payment fee.

These are choices.

In one of my fell swoops, I can lay waste to and destroy my universe.

Another swoop, and here is a rise up. It is a bright gigantic fountain arc. Here is a thunder of waterfall steaming. Here time is diffracted by light from ten thousand suns. Fractal dimensions intersect seamless haloed space. Every direction is a-dazzle.

Here in this chaos of living aliveness, I am totally content. I glare with wide gaze at the no of all nothing