Thoughts

Emptiness swallows the darkness or becomes it, I am not sure. Either way the void forms and all one can hear or touch is the rain that is both fierce and gentle. She is found in the rawest of elements, in earth, air, fire and water. She is not anything yet she is everything. She is found in the smell of death and the cries of new life. I cannot find her or know her form except for that of her which exists in me. She is both sides of every divide, the pain and the joy and the joy of pain and also the pain of joy. I write to find her and perhaps to somehow find myself: the self that has existed before and after me. I write seeking to transfer tears from my eyes into my fingertips. Failing to do either, I am left wishing I was somehow more delicate with words or more fierce, I cannot decide. Perhaps delicately fierce or fiercely delicate. Yet she does not reveal her mystery and I suddenly become afraid to ask.