November 3, 1997
Entry Two - Being

I sit on the window sill with the season turning and becoming in the world an inch from me. The room is still, dust generations old walzing in the slow circulating air and nothing else.
Such tranquility as I step away from the gears of time, ignoring seconds as seconds ignore me in their passing. Such drama I see now, inevitable but timely, all in a circle that goes on with or without me acknowledging it.
You and me, are just passers by in this whole drama of Being, becoming and diminishing, with or without us. The leaves still fall, the rain still beats, time still flies but what is it for all, if nothing is to be seen, nothing to be heard, and be touched?
All will just be a machine let loose on an empty stage, with only its echoes in accompaniment. A rehearsed orchestration without result, applause. No becoming, for there is nothing to become into.
You and me, are jewels of life, of being. For we add poetry to all. Now leaves dance and reborn, rain beats and orchestrate, time flies and set history. All is becoming, as all has always been, but now with us, they come into Being.

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November 3, 1997 Entry Two - Being
I sit on the window sill with the season turning and becoming in the world an inch from me. The room is still, dust generations old walzing in the slow circulating air and nothing else. Such tranquility as I step away from the gears of time, ignoring seconds as seconds ignore me in their passing. Such drama I see now, inevitable but timely, all in a circle that goes on with or without me acknowledging it. You and me, are just passers by in this whole drama of Being, becoming and diminishing, with or without us. The leaves still fall, the rain still beats, time still flies but what is it for all, if nothing is to be seen, nothing to be heard, and be touched? All will just be a machine let loose on an empty stage, with only its echoes in accompaniment. A rehearsed orchestration without result, applause. No becoming, for there is nothing to become into. You and me, are jewels of life, of being. For we add poetry to all. Now leaves dance and reborn, rain beats and orchestrate, time flies and set history. All is becoming, as all has always been, but now with us, they come into Being.
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