confession

this i must confess,

that
despite the errant
nature of my ramblings
i am not trying to break out
of the mold
instead i am like a person
on the beach drawn in the sand
bending my arms and legs
back and forth with the wind
and at the mercy of the tide,

i am not thinking or speaking
or moving or breathing,
i am but the empty pot after
all the water has boiled away
i am but the empty canvas
upon which all thoughts and matter
dance like puppets before their strings
are cut loose and
i am but the blueness of the sky
which is not actually blue at all
but is only blue because it reflects the ocean,

i am the wave racing towards a distant shore,

i am the wave in the pacific
dreaming of land but not realizing
that i am not separate from the ocean
which has already crashed against the
the cliff overlooking the sea
millions of times forevermore
since before beforeness.

this i must confess.