It changes.
Runs, flows in repeat.
A constant.

I see,
In clarity, yet at blur,
An illusion of whats real

I was able to catch my self,
In reflection.
Reflection in time.

I was still,
so it moves.

Constant change,

The pouring stops,
As it finally holds a space.
It becomes still,


Where I felt more change in me,
In me, I can’t see
Outwards is sight.
Inwards is rasa

An internal feeling
or receiving.

It is cold, cause the here is warm.
It flows cause the here is solid hold.
It moves cause the here is still.

I know what it is,
Its function,
Its from, Its nature:
to fill thirst, to wash, to moist and nourish

I used to feel, when it is unknown. but now its known, raises no curiosity. As it lives to function.

Water me

Mandikan ku dengan penuh ...


Same with this body, so much is given.
Given name, meaning,
Limits the possibilities how a matter can be/become
The matter becomes an object that functions.
Numbing to exist in the mundane

I don’t know if this feels true at constant.

I have lost significance in this.
The being is profane, as the expected is known.


I miss the forrest , where at lost is always unfound.
In this new place roads are given and paved.
A destination itself holds a direction to whats already expected.

I have felt the same way with this body.
The coming froms, informs the very existence of this
Replicates blood and growing layers of skin, and rooted strands from the before.

The nurtured thought and behavior becomes nature.
Rather the nature is to be nurtured


This is between,
a recognition and recalling of coming froms,

The feeling in between two lands,
In a bridge where you are expected to cross,

But rather I would jump off
And be in
In water, constant change.

Flow, in absorption,
and evaporations,
I wanna dive, run and hold into spaces of no where.

Never in one latitude.
Never settle,
Be moving yet, at still

Still coming and towards something

I never felt at home, at destinations _ or _,

I was born from _ then nurtured at _,

_ is home, yet a displacement was felt from growing in _

Both are of translations, to one another.

I wanna be between _ and _, where there is no between

Cause its never lettered, numbered, or rather acknowledge to exist

It is fine to not know,

Within this between, I practice to recall, notice and unknow what have already been given,

The coming from can never be taken away,

But rather in reflection and deconstruction,

Towards the making of

the unfinished,

This practice becomes

I am becoming

A pilgrimage, towards A woven cloth, in grief
A bed, at rest
A posture, of unknowing An altar, in remembrance

Alexander Sebastianus H.


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Works by Alexander Sebastianus H
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