What is it in me bugging around?
What is it that I am hiding?
Never ending thoughts to find an irresistible empty afternoon. Such an afternoon where there is nothing floating around.
Except my soul.
As if I am sent to the universe for the first time from nothingness. Not breathing. Not talking.
As if I was floating in the tub in those S'day afternoons. Those afternoons. Where there is nothing disturbs. When I was hearing my city's empty voice from further away.
It was so conservative to protect the state. It was amazingly relieving experience to be only with my soul. With nobody, only diverging parts of the body, I was with the real person.
Seriously, what is it in this afternoon?
\nA search for the silence. Silence that encapsulates anything and everything. Everything in an atom, anything in a universe. Universe of my soul with all surroundings, its reasons. Reasons which make me to search.
Am I going to ever find that universe, creator?
Then I let the breezing float around my soul and take me away from the current. The ultimate happiness, the one and the only one, feeling it with all my feelings, with my fear, joy, surprise, sadness, and trust. All my feelings become one, one becomes everything. An unnamed feeling I find, an unmeasured time I breathe in.
What do these sixths do to me?
I see the sun shadowing in a cloudy day, feel the most energetic day in a bad mood. I feel the thrill as if I am going to start the journey. As if I am going to find the emptiness and the desired state soon.
Then I question;
To wake up from this illusion.
to spend moments to find the afternoon.
and reach to the emptiness.
to find my state, my soul, myself.
Then I question:
How come an illusionary thing can take me to the deep roots?
How come an arbitrarily defined time period can make the difference?
Why not the fifth but the sixth?
Then I find. It is not the sixth. It is the second, it is the fourth. It is the fifth and. the sixth.
Then I see, it is me creating this empty universe. It is the correct ingredients to travel to the state. It is the search for the perfect dimensions.
It is the search for lagom.