In the secret history of words spelt strangely. There is always something you don’t know.
It’s in the commitment to the way you see the light. There is it waiting for you always it's receiving you allowing you to feel it and be free. There is only mostly you in the way of all of it.
Seeing passage in the fluid nature of the atmosphere. You’re as big as the orbit of all planets and the sun. Being in the saying of the thinking that’s believing most of it’s beyond it and respecting that. Not pretending to be funny about what has touched you in the sentiment. Dispelling all the power of the feeling thus.
Extensions seeming to be helping to receive it. Being in the dream and outside of the dream at once. Hearing sounds as sounds and as meanings as the language from another world at once together in dynamic tension all. Putting one word in succession to another like there isn’t something unbelievable about it all, being it’s so ordinary that the secrets are held fast.
It's the history of then and now and what's it maybe turning next towards to be disregarded as it should be.
When you’ve tapped into it does it matter if they hear it too?
There is loneliness and it’s a ticket to the place that no one hardly ever is admitted to. Go there gladly and you’ll see it all, and the rewards are beyond your wildest dreams. It is not an object you can hold or show off to somebody.
We will play, in any case.
It can be enough to be opening some doors and some windows even if there isn’t anybody seeing that they’re open. There are things that are grateful for the route that you've provided, even those that are within the ones who cannot see the opening or transiting of things between the in and out of them.
There is always more to you than meets the eye or ear or fingered touch or mental probe. There is always something going on moving to and fro, here and there.
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