In the Rhythm of Existence

IN THE RHYTHM OF EXISTENCE

I sit on the bench in the square and watch the day unfold: the child running, the bird in flight, the sweat dripping in beads from my brow. Alone in an unfamiliar and sweltering place, I find myself. I sleep on the bench, knowing that I will rest here again tomorrow and perhaps the day after. Such are the chapters of my journey, and some hidden part of me savors the vulnerability, the lack, the fragility of it all.

As I walk with my heavy, red backpack slung over my shoulders, I reflect on the ways of being. There are three ways to perceive, two ways to feel, and only one way to be. I do not claim this as absolute truth, but as a truth that nourishes, germinates, and transforms, carrying us from one state to another, from liquid to vapor.

I receive food from the hands of strangers, silently grateful for those who give without expectation, as I tread up and down the hills. Perhaps my father is not proud of my chosen path, but what pride matters more than that of simply being? I live as I feel I must, without fear, fully alive until life itself dissolves.

I owe gratitude to friends,

to the gods of Olympus,

and to those who once walked

the sands of ancient Egypt.

I must thank the hands

that placed one stone upon another,

building this dungeon.

I must thank the isolation

that keeps me distant,

for it allows solitude to teach me

what no external voice could ever reach.

Even in this dual and polluted world, I attune myself to the song that reverberates in my soul.

And so, living and grateful, I move forward. The rhythm of my being marks my steps, as each thought becomes another stone in the pathway of my inner construction. I am the metamorphosis that pulses with the Universe’s rhythm, dissolving and renewing, ever spinning in the eternal cycle of being.