A human being is content searching for form.
My spirit flows away from me,
reaching back to this Earth,
returns to me anew,
a force of Becoming.
I am a river that ebbs and flows.
ME crashing into NOT-ME,
just as this world is eternally unrestful,
always at war with itself.
Constant movement presses us toward the present;
we are carried onward, but we may clutch about in fright,
lurching forward or retreating into memory.
These are the integrations of a tumultuous mind: thinking that it is,
needing to be, yet becoming something unfamiliar.
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