we think in terms of lines - broken patterns through existence, one thing in a separate becoming from another. Yet life itself is not defined by illusory lines, reality providing a truth not always apparent to the mind. We cannot point to air, sky, or even then the universe without our inclusion, there is the immediate intimacy of meeting ourselves in formless wonder. There is no true break from hand to air, no constellation of atoms somehow kept apart from the universe at large. We intermingle, trading aspects of self for unique patterns within the whole. But lines too serve our needs for beauty, divisions created for a lovers touch to join, an edge offered in sunlit display against the ground through dawn and dusk. It's really all one thing in shifting designs.
~
Peace,
Eric
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