by Orna Ross | Jun 22, 2017 | Poetry |
I come down to the sea to sit on a rock, and meditate, all thought undone, in the waves' whoosh and turn. A young man comes, sits down on another one, takes out a guitar starts to strum. Above, on the promenade the runners have begun to run. On the road, the traffic...
by Orna Ross | Jun 8, 2017 | Poetry |
I have a body but I am not my body. I am the one who makes it move. What can be moved is not the mover. I have a body but my body is not me. I have thoughts but I am not my thoughts. I am the one who sees them swirl. What can be seen is not the seer. I have thoughts...