Spring
the smell of spring wind over wet earth, rushes into my lungs
on the slick rock I slide the moss, gritty and
smooth with my thumb
I greet the sudden change of season like a photograph of my brothers as children
remembering how we were then, and smiling
i greet the cool thrust of that unique spring air
like an old friend at a familiar bar
I swear it comes from a specific place,
waiting for the arrival of this moment to return here
celebrating itself with gusts and swirls until settling into a warm and inviting night.
And now i sleep in spring
and spring's air sleeps from my bed to the top of the sky.
-patrick walsh
What Is Dejas vu? by Vsauce,
Ever heard of the neurological phenomenon of blindsight? It's amazing!
(this guy is arguably better and cooler than any of hiss predecessors, NOVA etc...)
~
Walt Whitman - from Leaves of Grass
I wander all night in my vision,
Stepping with light feet . . . . swiftly and noiselessly stepping and stopping,
Bending with open eyes over the shut eyes of sleepers;
Wandering and confused . . . . lost to myself . . . . ill-assorted . . . . contradictory,
Pausing and gazing and bending and stopping.
How solemn they look there, stretched and still;
How quiet they breathe, the little children in their cradles.
The wretched features of ennuyees, the white features of corpses, the livid faces of drunkards, the sick-gray faces of onanists,
The gashed bodies on battlefields, the insane in their strong-doored rooms, the sacred idiots,
The newborn emerging from gates and the dying emerging from gates,
The night pervades them and enfolds them.
The married couple sleep calmly in their bed, he with his palm on the hip of the wife, and she with her palm on the hip of the husband,
The sisters sleep lovingly side by side in their bed,
The men sleep lovingly side by side in theirs,
And the mother sleeps with her little child carefully wrapped.
The blind sleep, and the deaf and dumb sleep,
The prisoner sleeps well in the prison . . . . the runaway son sleeps,
The murderer that is to be hung next day . . . . how does he sleep?
And the murdered person . . . . how does he sleep?
The female that loves unrequited sleeps,
And the male that loves unrequited sleeps;
The head of the moneymaker that plotted all day sleeps,
And the enraged and treacherous dispositions sleep.
I stand with drooping eyes by the worstsuffering and restless,
I pass my hands soothingly to and fro a few inches from them;
The restless sink in their beds . . . . they fitfully sleep.
The earth recedes from me into the night,
I saw that it was beautiful . . . . and I see that what is not the earth is beautiful.
I go from bedside to bedside . . . . I sleep close with the other sleepers, each in turn;
I dream in my dream all the dreams of the other dreamers,
And I become the other dreamers.
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