« Tuareg Wind Consciousness Carries All Mind-Echoes »

Tap, tap, triple-tap, not enough palms to clap, not enough heels to walk…
Neti-Neti Knee knows not where to walk, so it walks not-knowing…
In between the dunes of sand or snow, knowing Nothing but One thing-less thing:
Whatever walkabout is about, no matter how infinite the diameter, a dervish ain’t a dervish.
Thus, un-wind, Wind!
Sands of time witness you pass, zig-zag-ing between Form and Essence…

Been there-here, done/undone this-that.
Your turn: spin!
Your web of interpretation catches nothing but word-fish...
So is mine, so is mine...


pavel, the writer-reader, on a walkabout about what he ain't...