The Face Of My Soul: Standing Silence

He is standing, not because he does not fall, but because he has already passed through falling. His head is a storm that knows the name of no wind, and his body is a map of wounds that still breathe. Colors pass through him, like memories that have no path of return. And the human, within this endless passing, for a moment, becomes himself. This is the threshold; neither complete darkness, nor certain light a place where being still requires courage.