I sat in silence,

pondering implications of the fact that there is no me. Amidst this contemplation of emptiness and not being, my stomach growled audibly - I found no retort.

Enough about me.

Have you reserved a readied judgment of someone who you found irksome in some way too elusive to warrant immediacy of its issuance - someone who may have failed to elicit apparency of the same impression in others? Have you heard tell of this peculiar one's misdeed, and found yourself smug in your intuitive allotment of suspicion? When you learn afterward that the account was false, that the anomaly was exonerated, what might be your reaction? Would you cast into doubt all such judgments?

I habitually chose to become angry at this entirely self-contained assault and rebuff. How dare reality defy my expectations of it, what I had determined it would be?

I strive now to judge nothing, or to realize that all judgment amounts to nothing.

Don't thank me;

thank my country.
Don't thank my country;
thank humanity.
Don't thank humanity;
thank the earth.
Don't thank the earth;
thank evolution.
Don't thank evolution;
thank the sun.
Don't thank the sun;
thank our galaxy.
Don't thank our galaxy;
thank the universe.
Don't thank the universe;
thank dimensionality.
Don't thank dimensionality;
thank nothing for everything.


For starting it all, for ending it all, for providing the flesh of all that lies between.


Don't hate me;
...

Forgiveness loves hate.

I have come to see that I have had much more of a hand in the unhappiness I've endured in life than I realized in the midst of all of the good intentions that brought it about. I must, at last, forgive myself.

Can souls traverse their lenses?

Can the Self be conveyed? Can the soul climb out of its windows? I feel as if I can.

It's love - I am possessed by a desire, a draw which owns the needle of my compass.

Love will be necessary for me to grow infinitely farther; it is the capacity for the infinite by mutually sustained reflection of selves - the two become the inverse halves of one, all of existence within all of existence.

"And two become one."

The object of one's love is one's choice. One chooses whether to control that choice.

I love everything.

Still, I feel as if there is a reflection of me missing. I am, and want only to be myself; I am aware of the insubstantiality of external forces - and I want to be owned by the one of them that is able to match me.

To Björk:

It's not your voice that I hear in your music, it's you.

And it's me.

Thanks.

You're welcome.

I prefer it here.

I exist within a realm for which there exists no precedent or determinable format by which to convey the nature of (including, palpably, one societal); this applies to both the plane I have realized and to the effect that it has had on me - clarification of the latter often escapes even words, rendering me incapable of assessing myself as I am otherwise able. The only way I imagine communication regarding this state to be plausible is through indirectly addressing it - by illuminating its "context" as directly as possible.