Here, into these words I’ve infused soul,

Feel you now it’s magnetic pull, the longing from within of old.

If only I could make you feel what I feel, and see what I see. Our hearts could come together as one, the masquerade may at last end. This animatronic vessel hides an operator from within, pulling the strings; it’s awfully dark and damp in here.

I’m a gamer on the other side of the world operating my character, hoping to convey epic novels in emoticons, torrents of feeling in a digital wave.

To be stripped of this vessel, you might see the real me. A twinkling star. None of you see the real me, but those of you with your faculties of feeling enlivened might get a taste. Those of you who have opened your hearts might perceive something omnipresent, and yet hidden all the same. Omniscient, and yet a naive toddler. Omnipotence contained within a baby’s cries.

Bravely fearful. Perceptively blinded. Wisely ignorant, nourishingly starved.

No, I am not the man you see me as, and I’m coming to understand that myself. The physical still exists, but to be beckoned by this reality beyond it is a tad irresistible. Endless seas of creativity, born in the understanding that form cannot limit anyone.

The wonder of our spirits can be contained in infinitudes of vessels and forms.

So, why did we pick this specific instance? This point in time, this locality, this form amongst unimaginable quantum possibilities?

I feel my future self, my higher self, my spirit, knocking on this door. I am aware of how unaware I am, and I long to let Her, let Them, let Him in. Might I need to accept that part of life is to regret? Can anyone live a life without regret?

I operate a cold vessel of stone. I’m condensed light, leaden gravitas seeking to be liberated once again as luminous plasma. I see the divine contained within all things — or I might hope to — a fractal at the bottom of the ladder, one bubble of many to shortly pop, reuniting the air contained within with the source from which it was captured.

I now understand the divine to be the air contained within the bubble, and we are the water borrowing it to maintain form — but, oh, how we will pop one day, and how we will reunite when the air of our lungs leaves at last to return to that omnipresent divine breath that contains us in her belly —

Within me is futility and infinite possibility. Mediocrity alongside grandeur.

Nonattachment is only the understanding of our mortality. To let go of attachment is to recognize we all must return home one day, that the umbilical cord will rope us back in eventually.