This period is like being carried through life by a strong current.
All he feels is the speed of the river, the thrill of rapids,
never comprehending his utter lack of control, his constant peril.
Perhaps if I embrace the notion that I am already dust, long gone, already outside time and looking in, reviewing life, understanding every déja vu, I can finally be my own guardian angel. The knowledge that the scorched-black demons and the pristine, fluttering seraphs are in some sense naught but me myself unpacked, unfolded in a higher space, fill me with a sense of ease. As the myriad universe unfurls, it uncovers the bygone legends, who are in fact my once and future selves, that attribute to my blossoming into my purest and most potent forms. And these, with all their beast-heats, crowns and lightings, all their different colors, could possibly combine into one single revelation that is godlike. That is all.
