There are no coincidences, or you can see it that way, if it's helpful. Fallen trees that weeks later bear witness to recent winds that decimated the homestead. We trim the forsythia, we rake the fallen leaves into piles. Morning passes mostly reading, Christian and Hindu religious texts that are familiar but which always shift upon study, much the way a river is both always the singular object it is, but with an endlessly fluctuating surface. Getting high on - vs. getting on with - the fragments of Heraclitus, another way of seeing how nothing has changed since the early nineties. One learns to look past appearances to the changeless, or at least says that's what they learn, and this, too, appears to more or less function. Suddenly all this Lucifer energy, suddenly all this doubt. Coffee laden with heavy cream, stevia, cinnamon and a dash of cardamom. Why don't you throw yourself off this high cliff and we'll see what happens? I say in the morning hours, silent and alone. What happened was, a new way of living came upon him, and living that way was living in light, a fact I have not forgotten, all these centuries later.
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