In a swamp, as in meditation, you begin to glimpse how elusive, how inherently insubstantial, how fleeting our thoughts are, our identities. There is magic in this moist world, in how the mind lets go, slips into sleepy waters, circles and nuzzles the banks of palmetto and wild iris, how it seeps across dreams, smears them into the upright world, rots the wood of treasure chests, welcomes the body home. And everything turns in circles and spirals with the cosmic heart until infinity. Everything has a vibration that spirals inward or outward - and everything turns together in the same direction at the same time. This vibration keeps going; it becomes born and expands or closes and destructs - only to repeat the cycle again in an opposite current. Like a lotus, it opens or closes, dies and is born again. Such is also the story of the sun and moon, of me and you. Nothing truly dies.
