The words I say are not true, always (and never) remember that.
They are an impression of me
You may interpret them as having me-meaning
My words appear to fall in patterns and from these rhythms and tones you find meaning
You may believe there is purpose in what I say
But when a rain drop falls and splashes onto the ground what does it matter to the cloud that dropped it?
If we believe the clouds, the weather, the whole of life, has meaning we might seek to know that meaning and perhaps to find it, or create it where there seem to be gaps - there are gaps.
But it, and us, and especially me, just exist.
The cloud drops the rain with no meaning
And yet in ponds and rivers and in the sea life plays out and we talk and talk about its meaning
Words, like water, mean every bit and every little as everything I say.
No comments:
Post a Comment