It Came by Absence, as Pure Thoughts

We embark upon a voyage of mind versus actual reality: One concentrates on another person, the heart then thumps, and we wonder if this is that person; or more to features, as shared with millions, this space through pains, this wealth through drugs, this rhythm as an altered state of consciousness; where thoughts must be contained, this meditative non-thoughts, mobilized as sheer consciousness; as sudden a thump, as secrets are shared, by measure of this portal of consciousness. It is a bit esoteric; this other pleat, this space between mental colors. Enough of that!

I couldn’t contain it, as to have spoken in haste, while forgetting human instincts. We care for parents—we love for unions—this experience evolved through friendships; so mere communion—becomes cumbersome—while promise becomes electrifying. (These are mere thoughts).

But we must confess: there is a thin line between spirituality and sexuality. (Scholars endorse this thought, especially in theology; nevertheless, sheer experience speaks to this truism).

I miss communion, as soaked in communion, where certain techniques stand at attention; as given our souls, while flooded with dreams, where the wrong sentence may offend communion.

I’m soon to beauties, this creative flow, while staring at colors; this inner realness, as kissed theologies, where love assaults traditions. It comes this wave, while seated at a trestle, peering at sable-red eyes: this marvelous woman, at tears to circumstance—our wretched inheritance: this thing of knowledge, as becoming sensitive, for so much is reaching forward: this inner trespass, to become so aloof, as feeling manipulated. I cry as opposites: this credence of cultures, where said love could never shed its ghosts; because time is immortal, that repeated second, as realizing time is static by means of fluidity. But enough of that!

What shall one give, to be embraced, where unsaid persons need friendship?

It becomes this excursion, to fathom distance, where unsaid persons are quite selfish. (I run a risk here); nonetheless, what shall one give, if but communion, where unsaid persons are dissatisfied?

This is mere a rant, a bit concise, as parted by illusions. I shall explain. I have advanced through internal activities. I knew a presence; I felt a name; I verified this through spiritual operations. It came by storms; while it became historical; where it disappeared. (Caveat: I am not speaking of the latter person; I knew that this was temporary; instead, I am referring to one that communicated through a number of years: as speaking of something with great clarity: plus, I’m not angry: it was ecstatic while it lasted).

We live this way, as transported through portals, where ladders are replaced; notwithstanding, if offense was made, I regret this part I’ve placed. (We sense a disjunct; this miracle of souls; as powerful forces; to drift through time, making miscalculations, unaware of viable motives. While love is hearted, I apologize for ignorance, this thing of souls—where philosophies have swarmed, at terrors, where unsaid souls are searching for correlations: if but to fly)!