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Enormous emptiness in me makes room for your murmurations of unrepentant swallows between breaths of silent laughter and swooping, with an audience of one, whose emptiness beckons but whose mind begins to wander the caverns of this self-same chasm, but yes I am listening, or at least was — mea culpa — till I lost the thread when some bird carried it off to make its nest. Not so much regrets as wishing I might have done better in life, in general — this poem, for example, isn’t doing so well. Should I let it drift out into the vast vast emptiness, a crumpled sheet of paper tossed into the void that is myself? But then your birds circle round again and I’m back in tune with patterns against the screen of clouds and I am your humble servant.
Whatever comes, let it come. Whatever stays, let it stay. Whatever goes, let it go. ~Papaji
I read once that those amorphous swarms of birds actually have a leader at any given time. Some individual bird that is directing the mayhem. But it doesn't have weird orange hair.