The irrefutable aroma of eternity


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Beauty, and true recognition, have been taken from nearly everyone. Uneven by their own eyes. Uneven in their own minds. Uneven from their own hearts. So long as there is suffering, peace cannot unfurl her nova quilt. Yet to end suffering, peace must unfurl her nova quilt. The stoic says: i cannot laugh, because there is suffering. The sage says: to end suffering, you must laugh. At your own participation, in the foolish, in the frightening, in the believing, in the fluency of the unenlightening. As though peace, and love, and light, were merely words on a hallmark greeting card, or a pre-teen’s poshmark sweater, or a master’s pulpless prayer. Together. And nevver. Forever. There is more to it than words. And there is less to it than actions. In original timeless space. Division is the ultimate forbidden infraction

The universe says one thing, clearly, repeatedly, refreshingly, newly, again and again, over and over, consistently, never twice, the same, in the breadth of the eons, in the stillness of silence, where birds' wings wake the wind, where movements loom the days, yet nature grows, thunderously, vastly, instantly, quietly. And one must wonder, wonderfully, how is all the silence so ?! From whence comes, and to where does, all the tropics of sound go? And the answer, like love, plays, waits, gives, and saves, tenderously, is rapt, like deer eyes, in the blanket of care, of the eternity of slow. Where not even the sun, in thermonuclear glow, patterns a pindrop, of a lightbeam, on an eardrum, of know