philosophical poetry

The Reaching

A hand reaching,
across a table,
no agenda concealed in its palm,
no desired outcome fluttering
like a bird in a cage.

Only the space closing,
skin meeting skin,
a silent current flowing,
unbidden, unexpected.

Not to gain,
not to fix,
not even to comfort,
though comfort may unfold
in the quiet that ensues.

It is.
A gesture stripped,
of calculation,
and of the relentless chorus
of why.

In that naked simplicity,
a resonance.
A weight that comes to rest,
not heavy, but authentic.

Meaning unfolds,
and discovered,
like a vein of gold
buried in the plain stone
of existence.

Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.
Rooted Riddle

A shadow,
my only consistent friend,
becomes shorter with the rising sun,
a lie, this shrinkage,
as it also extends,
an outstretched darkness
that drains the dew-frosted leaves.

Sun-lit, I stretch,
a still green reaching,
for the very light
that sears my edges brown.

A dryness quenched by the storm
that comes to tear me from the soil.

This rooted life,
a paradox of immobility and wild growth,
of receiving what consumes my being,
carbon’s gentle touch,
and returning the very breath
that enables the robin to sing.

They say I am plain,
a fixed point in a turning world.
But in my bark and flower,
quiet battles are fought,
a contradiction to living,
a paradox to being.

Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.
Eternal Now

My soul,
my consciousness,
lives eternally.

Yet I exist
neither in the past
nor in the future.

On the infinite line,
I, timeless witness,
to this moment
conceived, defined.

A word—spoken.
Eyes—opened.
A world—created.
Reality—stamped.

Filed under: 🜃 Infinite – exploring the unseen forces behind creation, truth, and existence.
The Unheard Resonance

The messenger walks alone,
a solitary silhouette
against the uproar.

Truth-
a stripping away,
a release
from grasping hands.

Life-
a spiral of paradoxes,
wealthy threads unseen,
humming on notations
withheld from others.

Relationships stretch,
tense and far,
across ground of varying mind.

Wisdom spoken
in a forgotten language,
falling on ears
that cannot decipher its old script.

Misunderstood-
a loud echo,
how can they perceive
the revealed gem
when they hold only
familiar stones?

The great ones, too,
traveled this path
a lonely expanse
before the dawn
of understanding.

Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.
Brimming Cup, Open Heart

The soft rustling of aloneness,
not an empty echo,
but a breathed in air.

Space to untangle,
threads of self,
spun and known.

No clutching hand required
to feel the pulse of the world,
the wind a soft touch,
the stars a silent knowing.

This self, rooted and whole,
offers not an empty vessel,
but a filled cup.

Love then,
is a giving not a clinging,
two solid shores
meeting courteously,
the open sea between,
respected, understood,
a bond freely chosen
rather than desperately sought.

For in that solitude,
the heart discovers its own song
To truly sing in harmony .

Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.
Freedom or Footprint

To forge a path,
we often block
the view of other paths.

Sometimes our choices
are an abundance
of radiant light,
stretching in both directions—
closer, yet wider.
A treasure discovered
within,
as doors quietly open.

Dictate—
and you erase
another’s freedom to choose,
their own expression.
Swing with the mood,
dance with the thrill,
and leave a impression
inside yourself.

Can an impression be harmful?

The deeper the roots,
the higher the ascendance.

Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.
The Lane Between

If you understand life,
if you know how to live,
then you don’t swerve—
not toward this side or that.

Because once you reach for one,
you welcome the end,
and invite the other.
They’re twins,
born of the same silence.

You don’t live in extremes.
You live in the lane between—
in the space
where things don’t scream,
they hum.

In all its colors,
we walk,
each our own path.

No blood in the soil.
No suffering in our stories.
No chaos in the air.
No enemies at the gate.

Just friends,
living like we remember how.

With kindness.
With dignity.
With the quiet courage
to let others be free.

We share this place—
a patch of earth,
a moment in time—
with peace,
rights,
justice,
equality.

Together.

Not as strangers,
not as tribes,
but as children
playing
in our own backyard
garden.

Filed under: 🜃 Infinite – exploring the unseen forces behind creation, truth, and existence.
Awareness Unseen

The mind doesn’t stop,
a ceaseless sea of thought.
Awareness is a current,
steady and deep,
flowing beneath the waves.

In light,
its depths are revealed,
crystalline and clear,
while in darkness,
it hides secrets
it keeps from sight,
a vast ocean unexplored.

An attentive eye,
a lighthouse on the shore,
though often unaware
of its own inner presence,
still senses its gentle touch,
like the caress of sea foam.

In shadows or sunshine,
it’s a constant companion,
an undercurrent strong,
and a soulful heart
beating with the rhythm
of the eternal tide.

Filed under: 🜃 Infinite – exploring the unseen forces behind creation, truth, and existence.
The Gift

A seed of love and grace,
Nestled in the heart’s soil,
Dwells within the thought’s spirit,
Yearning to unfurl.

Action’s birth,
A tender sprout,
Like a stone
Cast into a pond,
Ripples expanding,
Touching distant shores.

The gift returns,
Love and grace multiplied,
In the wake of mindful deeds

Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.