the smell

three nights in a row, i have dreams that are alike in tone. flavor, sound, color, and feel - i don't recall any smells, except for the air that i breathe - are the same, even though the occurences of the dreams differ. might say that these stories have different plots but the same theme. on three mornings in a row, i wake up with a sense of significance. that what is happening now, in these days, is significant.

what is happening now, in these days, is realizing - and this is significant - that nothing is significant. and whatever is significant. and everything. and anything. and something.

and that things can't make me happy, mad, unhappy, glad, afraid, sad, or numb. things can't even make me notice. only thoughts can do all this, and only thoughts do. especially the subtle ones. silent thoughts that don't even whisper. thoughts that say nothing. almost like they weren't even there.... but there they are. yet because the thoughts are so subtle, it's the things that get the blame as well as the thanks. being a thought is an influential yet utterly ungrateful job. it's not fair. but it sure is beautiful.

to realize that i can say 'beautiful', without caring about how the word is conventionally used. there is no convention.

and that a thought is never beyond me. a thought is never beyond us.

and we are never beyond thoughts. when there are no thoughts... we are not. nothing may be. but nothing is not us. when nothing is, we are not. whether nothing first disappears or we first appear, i don't know. and where do we go when nothing is? i don't know. perhaps we don't go anywhere. seeing as we aren't.

and to look at what has been said, and live, "i quit you." and then, to quit. i quit you. and then, to realize that there was nothing to quit.

do you understand? i don't ever want to quit you.