TOUCHED

Late summer is bringing edge to her wind.

Coldly touching my skin.

Nibbling and biting my cheeks a little.

The horizon feels deeper as the polarities of warmth and cold meet.

In this deep dive I feel inspired and inquisitive...

I stretch myself thin to enter through that sharp line at the edge of this world

Wondering,

what's there?

Bursting into another one here.

Where hands can't touch, mind may as well.

Or soul.

Beauty intrinsically woven into it all.

What can't we touch?

If not our hands are made subject to be touching

or see,

if not our eyes are destined to make visible that which is unseen?

There're qualities in the forms of touch.

Flavours of sorts.

And layers,

Flavours in the qualities of meeting and melting.

I can be wowed by the touch of a man, or my own,

as I can be by the ocean.

In moments

time stands still,

is unending nor beginning.

Never stops.

And never stopped.

In the embrace of sky and earth, I feel myself touched by the arms of existence.

Surrounded,

Tugged in

amidst the playgrounds of multiverses.

I marvel at the sensory experience that's unfolding

wordless and silently,

yet full of sounds and things.

Where noise becomes a somewhat quiet undercurrent

while white steaming rapids at surface level are looked through.

I'm amazed by the place of earth and ocean,

by mother and by creation.

In awe of the vastness experience holds,

in awe of the vastness of the sky and the waters

My own vastness too

Looking into eternity,

And this ever-changing sky.

Through a peak hole of consciousness and ever-changing life.

Side by side they stand,

with themselves and as mirrors floating somewhere in space as space.

Indescriptive, timeless.

I begin seeing our words for this world as almost belittling in the vast none conceptual understanding of this.

As if every conceptual understanding we might try to form, were to push vastness into a tiny container.

Birthing it into a sort of skin that eventually must crack,

like snakes shedding skins and never growing skin back.

While I ponder this place

And the relation to all things they seem to fade into nothing.

Yet they remain and turn into something all the more powerful.

Perhaps of even greater value.

Or perhaps they are just taking their rightful place.

Like wind touching skin.

And skin touching wind.