The earth is a slow moving liquid, the sea is viscous air, and the wind is space with the touch of a feather. And touch is what we know, and our knowing is weightless.
Powerless to leave the now, time is folded around us with no more density than a mirage. Every thought, sensation and imagining is transparently light. Sometimes this powerlessness seems a walless prison, often though, a haven, the haven as fear points elsewhere for confirmation. Elsewhere has disappeared leaving the heart happy.
As all futures are imaginary there are no means of leaving. Powerless to leave the now all travels arrive at, traverse and return here.
