it's all contained - and yet it isn't either, this capacity that holds the world being unseen, without border, and always willing to expand further. The mystery is how one thing is an empty embrace as well as every every object of it's hold. I can sense myself as this capacity, trace a direct line back to that which can't be seen, and find every object in existence held in my embrace. To see all this is to know myself as an equal trade of space for form, emptiness for a solid world, capacity for objects to appear - and it all simply happens on it's own. As witness - I am just one more object appearing, as much fiction as any other story told. What I am is all that seems to be contained, and the mystery that contains it.
~
Peace,
Eric
(but in truth, it's just another story)
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