I breathe in the rain, the dirt on the sidewalks and pavement, the rumble in the depths of the hollow streets. New York is always awake, yet it’s a still, quiet place, at the same time; with all the cacophony. I can hear the silence in the noise, the noise is silence itself. Everything is always already stopped, the motion itself, already.
I wrote this to you:
…there are two ways to think… either running on and on and on… Or… stopping to go deeper and deeper into it, to let yourself seep into it, permeate it and let it permeate you, until you’re thoroughly in it and it is in you, you are it, and then you let it breathe and live through you until suddenly it comes bursting forth as brilliant light.