Within each of us is a world. It is not
the world, but it is our world. Our own alone.
And the world is not complete without an ocean
flowing up and out and over all the
edifices of our life’s history that we have watched
rise out of the choices we didn’t realize we had made.

The ocean is made of something that we have each unconsciously
decided within ourselves. For example, limitless, maximum potential
or the songs of future children, or the kiss of a being
that promised to love you forever and ever. The something is
deep. And, you can only peer so far down, and you wonder how
far you can go into that immense, pounding pressure.

The sky reflects the ocean. When your head aches upwards,
your neck craning to see a bit more, you glimpse through parting clouds
the same depths that would
you spread out across an infinite universe.
Like a spoonful of salt spread throughout an endless pan of batter.
As your life bakes, you can taste all the flavors better.

Maybe, I should have said that within each of us is a kitchen.
Our own kitchen in which to mix and savor the seasonings which we cannot
eat by themselves, but which we need and
crave daily as we take our sustenance.

What do you imagine makes up the innards of you?
What creates your flavor?
What is your nuclear bomb? Your bag of tea?
Your lightning bolt splitting all the trees?
I think you are like a never-ending denouement to an unsolvable mystery.