Like a distant memory,
a foggy idea that can not be said in words,
of a place where thoughts cease
for they have reached the place where they are born.

Here am I, not as my thoughts but as their source.
Here I don't define myself since I am in a place definitions can not reach.

I stand on the ground and my feet grow roots,
I touch a tree and my fingers turn into bark.
I stare a star and my retina caresses its light.

But I don't think since everything merely is.
Without thoughts I remember everything
since I know where I came from:
somewhere beyond thoughts
from a place that is their source.

Song of Life