There is no
flashlight on view,
no paper bag with
one pinhole to see out,
no sight that is not
immersion of itself.
There is no defining
of space
so that you are
instinctually driven
to embrace as a
context.
You are in
Omni-motion,
the closest thing
that you would identify with
the flow of a river-mist of a nervous system
driven by both wind and gravity
dancing together.
There is no feedback
loop
because there is no
driver position
But there is ever
the out-pour
from an inner source
unknown.
There is no
residence of recognition
to work with.
Space is
unboundaried
yet declaring as an
unspecified presence.
Everything of
thingyness is synchronous,
all in native
tongues
as an unhearable
tonal chorus forthcoming
but not as an articulation
of language.
Everything is so
thoroughly in the gravity
of integrity
that there is no
cutting edge of view.
Nothingness amidst
the all
is the only audience
to view.
And it is hard to
believe
that we live in that
world
but unaware enough
to know it . . .
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