μύειν, mystic

Yesterday i stumbled on meta-physics.
and talked on it.
today i wonder about the closing of lips and eyes.
this is what the mystic means to be doing.
it is the root of the word, mystic.

it irritates me that i write.
i prefer listening and talking,
communication.
here and in other areas,
i stay alone anyway,
individuated in all interdependence,
in inter-being.
the words lose flesh and blood,
i do not think they reach,
they lose substance  as arrows
falling to the ground before reaching their target.
maybe, maybe this is good.
i don't know.

when i reach out,
i do not reach out for all
and i do as i am not as different
from anybody else.
i reach out to you
and to me
and to this in between.

this is what makes
language meta-physical.
words and kisses and hands
and music are all woven from
the fabric out of and through
which we are alive, touching,
maybe loving.

and i need the mystic too,
the solitude,
to be still and go inside,
not to anything imagined as higher
but to the truly central, the substance
and energy of flow and dance
coming through me like a breath.

and in this i see.
and i see that i cannot
close my eyes and lips forever:
i am not alone
and i am changing,
i try to touch, this is part
of essence moving,
sound and silence.
pause.

i must find meaning
in the pauses,
this is rhythm,
the rhythm of seasons,
moon, tides, life, death.