As of last Night

What is this story as of last night?

The one of the wounded, perishable essence of the existence or the one of the discriminatory, alive version of the existence? There are only two proven ways to know whether we are here or there. We can only be alive or in death.

The alive existence is fragile, but in a renewable way, in a way that when it returns to flourishment it has lost all past essence and has acquired the new fragrance and stamina of a fresh life. The alive existence is unaware of the woes of time and of the lack of fragrance.

What can one assume here in this existence that is blue as the upper sky and green as a coconut leave? Can it be assumed anything, but existence itself? This is the rhetoric of the one that is too close to itself and far from reality.

The alive existence brings a daily innuendo and a daily flavor that exalts the spirit and makes the body shine. Of many worlds that have gone by and of many existences yet to be realized.

As of last Night, how empirical has this life been? Is there a moment in the daily schedule to even ask this self that projects false expectations and indecisiveness? How stretched the boundaries are as of last night? Has it been a torrent of applauses and affirmations or has it been a nagging illusion of discontentment?

Fret not more. Fret no more.

Nothing frets here in the alive existence. It knows not this word and it knows nothing. It shines and vibrates as the wind in the highest peaks and in the deepest forests. Crispy, clean and wooshy.

Nothing frets here in this alive existence. No woes of the passerby and no woes of the yet to come. No noise and no ramblings of perennial echoes. This is a transparent and fresh reverberation that accompanies the bluish haze of the lower sky.

We have come to experience the aliveness of all creations and the intimacy of the creator. We have come to survive the non being for a little while and back to it we shall go. But, before we do so, let us understand the essence of the being and leave asside what remains of the non being.

For the being that it is now has no comparison and no preambles. There is no legacy attached to it and no given purpose. No underlying philosophy. This being is utterly anew. The waves of the ocean refresh this being as the first creation came out the creator of all. The pure sense of being is all that it carries and it is all there is.

If you want to know the mountain you need to approach it. Not in a picture, no matter how compelling it looks. The vibrant colors of the page are no setting for the beauty of the abound and the impression of its heights are no comparison for the realization of been there on its peak.

The zest for creating can turn against the most admirable. The continuing of the search and the performing has left many without touching even the surface of their core. As this, many creations would have been acted up, but this being is not and will never be.

A being that is not has a presence that mortifies and it is a ridicule to its essence. Laughable circumstances for without intent the spirit had to retrieve to crevices so you can perform the seemingly innocuous acts.

The being has a spirit so humble and perfect that allows for all unnamable. Even when the being becomes unnamable itself, its spirit is there, receded, in the crevices of a core as a remembrance of a best companion and mother, for at the end it made you into your possibility.

Forgone is the non being. Hallelujah!