30 April, 2021
III. A Treasure Trove of Wisdom
To think is not beautiful, to think is relevatory,
what is beautiful is to feel – even with all the pain,
as there are no correct or incorrect answers, all those possible interpretations of possibilities...
It is like a dwelling
on the edge of a cliff
with a murmuring surf beneath;
whether I fall or fly, rise or climb, walk or stumble, speak or silence with thoughts.
And who is the sage, a treasure trove of wisdom – not that of nonsense,
who is the real, genuine bearer of the truth?
I was a child, and who will be a child of mine?
I was a thought, and who will be a thought of mine?
I was a trembling feeling, a flitting shadow, and who was it whose imprint was left in me?
And whom will I imprint myself in?
In a mozaic of correlations
all is intertwined, united we stand – strangers or not,
or else all falls apart.
There is no need to say anything to one another, we can just stand by and look on inactively –
but still all will flow on – it is irreversible, unstoppable, indestructible –
like time, an eternal thought...
Whence does the source of that power spring? At what does it aim?
What role do we play?
Who are we?
Who am I?
III. A Treasure Trove of Wisdom © Ladanseuse
Trans. "Pokladnice moudrosti", written on 7. 4. 2006