One dimension things.
Three dimension space.
Four dimension experiences.
Multi dimension beings.
Funny.
No one cares about the element that makes possible all these.
(Dead roses)
I am here. And yet I cry.
Because I see.
The glue that holds the dimensions of the cosmos can have no more dimensions than me…
(But I am no one, do you see?)
Trying to remember.
What was like when we were a baby.
What we did yesterday.
How the cosmos was born.
What existed before existence.
Not for a moment can we ever contemplate.
That in a world without memories there is nothing else than our self.
Being.
Like a baby alone in the world.
Crying.
Not out of fear.
But because it knows it all.
And it can still remember that not so long ago.
It was not even born…
We are afraid of change.
Change that means disease.
We are afraid of dying.
So much fond of being alive.
That we fail to see what we see.
From the first day we were born.
We were dying.
I am so afraid.
Because I just realized.
I so much love change…
(Why can’t I not accept that I was always alive?)
Poetic Philosophy 