and just - it's the bare, obvious, and aloneness of each moment, the impossibility of anything beyond right now. Just this, what seems my time in observation of a flower, and infinite suggestions present themselves - that our shared space belongs in equal measure to the capacity given each other, and more our intimacy, that we intermingle to a degree past belief in separation. And then, just this, and everything else is beyond matter, there is no philosophy of myself and flower, everything belongs exactly as it falls, with or without any thoughts I might provide. From here, always here, my walk continues...and the flower still blooms.
~
Peace,
Eric
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