There are crop circles in the carpet.
We are the stylus of their creation.
They are undecipherable
by any of our means
yet we continue to make them.
They have their own DNA code
implanted by our every contact means.
But we assume an unobservant us
as our selves and look elsewhere.
We are the arrogance that asks for
the universe to meet us half assed
I mean, half way,
as we are then the determiners
of what half is, what half looks like
and what their half should mean.
This is projection meeting itself
in satisfaction as agreement is
it’s own form
of blindness personified.
Therefore, there are crop circles
in the carpet.
They import from fiber memory,
both shape and scale.
We do not have the context
or syntax as means to appreciate,
but we are the stylus of record.
We are the universe
as there are crop circles
in the carpet,
but of course
they don’t really exist
because there are no messages
in the universe of oneness . . .
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