Existence is what?
Is existence what?
The 35 year old skateboarder says, “this is the only thing I have,” and kicks his foot forward to send the wooden plank rolling on the platform.
The call to prayer resounds, cutting the blocks of stale air that have become lodged between the building blocks. To put thoughts into people’s heads is the meaning of existence for the navigator of the minaret.
The hot car rolls down the street. The bicycles hit the subtle bumps on the track, bells ringling involuntarily. The person in the doughnut and coffee store winks his eyes few times, at a long interval, while the droning of the machines is filling the ambiance with the stuff of sound frequencies.
The river of existence coils into a vortex, and uncoils again. Who is in the eye of the vortex? Do my eyes help move this thing or does it exist on its own.