To the children and the innocent it's all the same.

Sweet life continues in the breeze, in the golden fields.

The empty blue sky of space says 'All this comes back to me, then goes again, and comes back again, then goes again, and I don't care, it still belongs to me

I realized that I had died and been reborn numberless times but just didn't remember because the transitions from life to death and back are so ghostly easy, a magical action for naught, like falling asleep and waking up again a million times, the utter casualness and deep ignorance of it.

But night would come and with it the mountain moon and the lake would be moon - laned and I'd go out and sit in the grass and meditate facing west, wishing there were a Personal God in all this impersonal matter.

And then we’ll all go off to sweet life, ‘cause now is the time and we all know time!

In my medicine cabinet, the winter fly has died of old age.