Fire

In between moments of heightened consciousness and slightly blurred understanding lies that erasing of language, where links are drawn in sensations and comprehension hits with bold realizations. Yet, in those moments, with the low rustling of the trees that is humbly loud to ears that crave a sound of belonging instead of the constant honking, with the sweet scent of fresh green leaves that would be blowing off behind the dust of the vehicles a few days later, with the unbearable exaltation of the cold breeze on hot parched skin, lies the moment of forgetting the condition of Being as an intrusion. Within the body of the fire, the smoke and the branches are one; the body is the static ground, the body is the whirling smoke.

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