‘Poetry’ is just a term, a human made term of logistical nature to describe that which is beyond logic, that which is beyond language itself, yet here I find myself time and time again, talking about what cannot be spoken. Words are but pointing fingers, secondary references, unable to be that which they appear to define. Don’t get hung up on the words, go beyond the edges of the mind, out into a field of endless wonderment. Take any term, it doesn’t need to be ‘poetry,’ choose any you like, then all you have to do is follow it into itself until its logical nature inverts upon you and a tunnel into eternity is revealed. All this and you didn’t even have to go across the street. The greatest mysteries, the greatest discoveries and journeys, they all happen within oneself, and when you follow yourself into itself, its illusionistic separatist-nature inverts upon you and a tunnel into eternity is revealed. You see, there are endless tunnels, and if you follow but one through to its end, I will greet you at the threshold. And, eventually, digging new tunnels becomes a silly, childlike game of hide and seek with the universe. There is nothing heavy about the game, in fact this subtle game is the exact opposite of ‘heavy’: it is the emptiness of the mind, it is the weightlessness of body, and it is going in the opposite direction that the ego desires to venture towards.