The Desertic Moor

It comes as no surprise to learn of the monks and the desert:
There’s nothing to attach the mind to;
The body too has trouble clinging to that sloshing oceanic sand.

Purification by space -
Perfection through silence -
Natural gradual movement.

The desertic moor devoid of detail
Gives space to the senses
Unleashes them;
Now destitute of all the homely furniture of thought
Lets them wander out and get lost -

One day perhaps they’ll stay out there:
The seeing, the hearing, the feeling,
And I, a being with no shell, shaken by every sound,
Will wander around in crystalline simplicity
With saffron eyes, and tensile tendrils, connected to every earth capillary,
No longer simply a human being,
Holed up in his own kind,
But a universal life form,
Whose powers of identification have dissolved
Have wandered out extravagantly
Have been emboldened
In the depths of the highland moor, in the heights of the braes,
in the sinuous wings of birds.

The human with a cloud for a body.... ;)                        [Atop The Kilpatrick Braes, May 2015]