As I was riding the bus home this afternoon,
Some incandescent fluttering settled upon my mind.
I began to feel as if my life was just the pages of a book,
And I was reading them in an indifferent manner.
The words coming out of my mouth sounded foreign to me,
And I felt as if they were being spoken by another person.
I was out of my body, flying high above in the clouds,
But at the same time I was strangely grounded.
I felt a beautiful stillness settle about me,
A benediction that pierced my shivering heart.
Beauty has no love, and love has no beauty.
Beauty is a silent whisper that lays its head upon a place
And smiles cleverly and happily at your confused face.
Beauty has no face, or a body, or a heart,
For beauty is not a solid object.
Beauty is beyond the formation of thought, and so
Beauty has no opposite.
Beauty has no label, for beauty can not be put in to a physical thing.
Beauty is in the air around you,
Which pulses with quivering excitement and expectation.
It is silent, whilst love is loud.
And silence gives no sound, nor thought, nor feeling.
I sat atop my own head, feeling disconnected from myself.
An out-of-body-experience is a quiet thing to behold.
It is much like dying, for dying is not painful.
The process is painful, but dying is a true Beauty.
I can see the world from new eyes.
I can see my life from a different angle.
And strangely, now everything feels just right.
Beauty has penetrated my life subtly,
Leaving a small mark on my heart and mind.
The epiphany of a dream,
In which I have just now woken.
