Una... Multa... Omnia... Where does the body end and the earth begin? Where does the water end and the wind begin? I press my hand against the stone, and feel no border in the bone. The skin I thought was mine alone is only borrowed, only loaned. The air I breathe was ocean once, the dust I tread was star and sun. And in the space between the two, no line remains, no me, no you. They drew the lines with ink and knife, and called them body, called them life. But the lines were only sleep— over rivers running deep. Two colors bleed into the grey, and neither knows the other's way. But in the meeting of the two, the boundary forgets what it used to do. The melting of boundaries! No line, no wall, no seam! The body in the water! The water in the dream! Where does one thing end? Where does another begin? We are not separate from the world— we are the world, wearing its skin! The fire spoke to the earth below, the earth answered in a glow. The wind and rain were never two, just one voice passing through. I looked into the mirror's face, and saw the sky, and saw the space, and saw the ocean in my veins, and saw the sun inside my pains. I am not the boundary. I am not the breach. I am the merging, the mouth, the speech. Two colors bleed into the grey, and neither knows the other's way. But in the meeting of the two, the boundary forgets what it used to do. The melting of boundaries! No line, no wall, no seam! The body in the water! The water in the dream! Where does one thing end? Where does another begin? We are not separate from the world— we are the world, wearing its skin! Melt... melt... melt... The walls are falling inward now. The names are spilling out. The self is not a fortress. The self is not a shout. It is a doorway. I am the water and the wave. I am the shelter and the grave. I am the breath between the two— the name that never was, the door that opens through. If I am not the line they drew, then I am free, and I am new. Not body, not soul, not flame, not stone— but all of them, and all alone. The walls are gone, the sky is wide, the ocean rushes from inside. The self is not a thing to keep— it is a tide that will not sleep. The melting of boundaries! No line, no wall, no seam! The body in the water! The water in the dream! Where does one thing end? Where does another begin? We are not separate from the world— we are the world, wearing its skin! And when the boundaries fall away, there is no self, no night, no day. Only the current, only the sea— and the sea is endlessly me. Una... Multa... Omnia... Mare...
