Stillness, unmoving, immutable.
Sitting on the back of a motorbike
Going 100 km an hour
Leaning in as the resistance is great.
And the wind is tugging.
Trying to tumble us.
And yet, what I am is still.
Does not move.
The world is passing by.
Rushing.
Swallowing up.
Scene after scene.
Coming and disappearing again.
Seen by what I am.
All moves in me.
