You dove into the stream, body honed with determination, mind finally freed of complacency and habit. In this submergent flux of action you discovered equanimity and poise, a deep catchment of beauty, a joy pooled in inner sanctum, sheltered by indisputable righteousness of choice. A light meeting itself on the brink of knowledge, descending inward, climbing up out of the nodal points of spine into the sky. A merging occurred, a dipping of the sky into the sea, a solipsist sun shining into a universe awakened.

Outside of movement, the observant eye denotes wherein a line must be drawn. It slices through the ecstatic aether to offer a voided critique, the violence of a silent vacuum of emotion, sucking perfect beauty into the darkest obscurity of shame and fear, a cultivated withdrawal from a moment’s simple offer of transcendence. The vultures descend on the open wounds of shattered divinity, drawing into themselves the meat of an alien suffering, a festering fodder for the rearing hunger of the future. Silence and noise simultaneously reign in the open fields of the spirit.

The ghost of a unitary perfection sidles down to sleep in the multiple fragments of its universal being, shot through with the light, spread like pieces of mirrors across the space. Time spirals onward, a hollow shaft of eternity encircled by endless movement towards infinity. Nothing is perfect, and that itself must constitute perfection: a mindless picture of what only the most discerning of minds could envision. Working towards itself in the tireless motion of the damned.

Diving, you are beautiful. Whetted, liberated, confined within the singular moment in which you exist, forever. Living yourself into a distilled version of something beyond. The concentrated victory is ours.


Author: manderson

I live in NYC.

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