and every thought - surrounded by the infinite space of our existence. Yet we place the value of reality upon a fleeting moment oft repeated. Our truth is not a singular note but the silence that allows symphonies played in endless order. Our reality is found in stillness, and motion no more than a prayer offered as a self caress. This is our value, our own infinite self, embracing form and thought, allowing for their moment and their passing. Placing out attention here, this spaciousness holding all, we see the truth of our existence.
Peace,
Eric
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