Parts

Parts:

that I am parts, a gathering of things that seem to hold my sense of self - my body is composed of elements, and each of these too is made of smaller forms.  My world is a collection of ever smaller things, until only space remains. 

yet, where exactly am I found?

no inquiry leads to an answer that can easily be told, everything that is dismissed as not my true self, somehow too belongs. To say that I am any one thing would take me from the whole, to declare myself as only emptiness would miss the essentialness of every part. Where I'm found is in every detail that seems to make me - and I am aware of this. 

so, I am found aware. 

at this point, I don't really need an answer, any inquiry asked is simply for the poetry that follows. I am less interested in philosophy and metaphysics than I am in just writing of the moment. Every question is formulated without an end result in mind. It's the simplicity of asking...and being aware of all that follows. 

writing too is many of parts, words strung to theme, thoughts inspired to ideas. Each detail is essential. Yet where, exactly, is the poetry found? My own answer changes daily, even from moments to the next - at certain times, perhaps, I might find the poetry of an empty page waiting for its fill. Or maybe the arrangement of the words, of how the spaciousness of the page allows their story to be told. In the proper mood my answers would continue to unfold. 

but none of them would be entirely true.

any poetry found, any beauty in the world - is seen through my awareness. It's here, where every part belongs, somehow seamless, whole. 

~

Peace, Eric