The Patterns of Ourselves


There are the patterns of all things,

whirring, waving, looping, rising and falling,

spinning, pulsating, reproducing,

the endless repetitions of beating hearts,

the flutterings of wings,

The vibrations of light and sound,

the waves crashing on the shore,

inhaling and exhaling,

the passing of days and nights,

darkness and light,

left and right,

alternating currents of energy

running through crisscrossed wires,

atman endlessly dividing,

forming and dissolving

into yes and no,

stop and flow,

joy and sorrow,

the symmetry of the turning

of galaxies in infinate space,

the orbits of planets around stars,

the cycles of suns and moons and seasons,

the same each day or month or year,

yet varying endlessly,

changing, if only infinitesimally,

defying consistency,

the trips to the store each day for food,

going to work or school each morning

or to the bathroom in the middle of the night,

patterns of speech and thought,

our repetitive reactions to things,

the acquired habits and addictions of lifetimes

which bind us to our lives,

that we have invested in,

for better or worse,

the illusion of our consistency,

our identity,

the whorls on the tips of our fingers and toes,

like the complicated designs

on the wings of butterflies,

our symbols,

the crazy signatures of our individuality,

all of these beautiful forms

of which our lives consist,

all part of the intricate design

of our outrageous universe,

the pattern of ouselves.




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