Somewhere, these lands join; the all embracing smile and the closely reasoned thought. In one land, we drive a stake and call it context, time and place. In the other, we are mute and empty and all the parts mix into each other. There are sign posts and paths between: here, arithmetic, there algebra and, beyond, calculus. The discrete ebbing into the unity, the concrete dissolving into the abstract, the events becoming the experiences, and the known bits of knowledge changing into knowing. There, sits a holy man lost in the ineffable. Adrift and aware amid the unspeakable, empty and conscious wordless and steeped in wisdom. Here sits a wordsmith, stringing his beads, muttering his rosaries of syntax and grammar. Time draws on and a breeze whispers of place and of a pen in search of a bridge. With time, it all fades slowly away; the events, the facts, the things learned and repeated. We are here on the bench, but who is really here? Now, we are considering this silence, but when is now? If I bring all this and write the last line. If I bring all this and write the last line. I am in the place where these lands join, I've come in from the outside or I've come out from the inside; both. gallagher 27 Sep 2013 Paris - Parc Monceau
— Copyright 1965-2013 by Dennis Gallagher —