Cross the mire of delusion with me, out of earshot of the television, away from the screen you’re reading this from, beyond the cacophony of comforting voices you’ve surrounded yourself with. Look into the truth of your being, the mystery it presents to the world of named objects and concepts. Lean into the squishiness of your experience, avoiding the hard edges which attempt to define it at every turn. You, the “you” which cannot be defined, transcend this manifest existence. Your tentacles, your mycelium connections, stretch into realms not visible to the sharpest eyes, not audible to the most delicate ears.
Your vastness cannot
be contained by | this moment |
contains your vastness.