a short "essay" on "my" intelligence

intelligence tells me i die and now i live.
I die and live. I am alive.
I live as consciously,
as passionately
and as truly as i can with all
the richness of life and death,
with the sweetness of  grapes, the taste of  apples,
the scent of flowers, with kisses
and embraces and tenderness
and all desire
to be free and open to see, to be
free of thought and pre-judgement
and of as many concepts as i can be.

My greatest desire is to be near to essence,
to true and conscious experience.

Essence is a word, but essence cannot be in a word.

I must move on,  grow inside, water my love
and my kindness.
I must live
with my emptiness and
with my fullness, my not-mine
and non-me and my many me,
my idiot child in me and my education
and past, my wishes and dreams
and with all the cruelty and violence
and desert and indifference of the days
and the human race and me,
fighting, going inside to find my way.

all this intelligence tells me.
It tells me i am not and I am.
I feel me living, this is all.
And i feel this passionately.

i love and i am in love,
enchanted by the essence of another,
no need for chanting,
i walk with it and listen.
I remain untouchable in essence
but touchable. I changes, not essence.

Can anybody do more than to listen?

Intelligence tells me: all is fragile,
and the beauty of the filigree
is all the more beautiful for it.

ps: i am not so very intelligent
and not always conscious of what i do,
certainly not of what i write...