Water is empty of knowledge and light.
It looks the same way whenever you view
the running of water from time that's gone night.
It is the same water. Nothing is new.
Flowing of water will obviate time.
Lethe-sound, a hissing, in rapids a roar,
sound you can't think of. Mem'ries go missing.
That sound of always, sanding the shore.
I hate to say "once". It felt forever.
Must've been time that it wanted to start.
It was the clock that starts ticking to chime
or cells in a cluster start pulsing, our heart.
Up on the stone that startled the water,
(Some say a heron. That could be wrong.
I've seen the picture and all the words thereon. )
There was a bird and the bird sang a song.
There was a bird. It was perched on the stone.
There was a sound and it came from the bird.
There was a sound and the sound was one tone.
There was the stone and the stone stayed around
in mem'ry, in likeness, when the tone played.
"Stone" was the tone and the stone was the ground.
The bird sang a tone. The tone was a word.
The word was a name, and that name had a sound.
Bennu took flight. The bird was called Bennu.
That's what was heard when the bird called a name.
Or a song or a word or an image in time;
a record or mem'ry. These things are the same.
The bird sang a song. The song was attached
to all of the things we heard the song by.
The world without form, all as one, undistinguished.
now called (or sung) river or boulder or sky.
O BENNU! I ask, when my mind turns to water,
and the stone of the word slips away into sand,
that my watery mind should remember the bird;
that in flight this poor sailor has somewhere to land.
O BENNU! Please sing, so that I might retain
the thread of my life 'till I go to the west.
That the world might be known through your tuneful refrain;
That my times might be known when at last I'm at rest.