, the end of me, the parts that wont unwind or delouse. i want to rip it out but it needs the gentle touch of love and mothers grace. its all the one me, the one that is eventually not any part of me but everything, the everything that is the nothing and then the truth and the realization of unmeasuableness, that solidity and size and shape that has no extremities or edges or other to touch, so doesnt exist within the smallness of the mind, the measuring stick of life, the keeper of the differences and distances and determinations of our life. i want something and it tells me where when what how and there is no questioning what it says because i can see its true, the sky is blue the earth green the trees brown and i would not have it any other way, but where i am going the world is a gas in the unending emptiness, the manifest undreamed in the heart of emptiness or at least indeterminate being existing unawares of external existence. beyond knowing, the poets reign and we become the things of myth and lore, the exploration of the hero's journey and the chalice of unspeakable price, for who we are is a magic game and it never becomes clear the end of that and the beginning of this but we dance in that unknowable splendor for eternities, learning the ways of the masters and the undiscovered principles that cannot be taught. have patience and be in love until i can succumb to its divine seduction that takes away all things for the one thing that is all.
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