Eschewing Names and Labels

I say there is a stillness in which words cannot be uttered. I speak of a field in which nothing can be said. What is described is gone and the description is its grave. Tides are the sea not needing us to live, as the moon only seems to follow secret trails through the sky. Our skulls open and blue lights float across the landscape, like a child's dream of having fireflies for friends. It's a dream to think you can follow Christ, or fall in love with a special someone, or even know what's real and what's not. I take your hand, take you to the hay loft, let you do to me what you say you want to do to me. Who is born is already dead and who dies was never born. Nothing intrudes on the inner peace born of eschewing names and labels.