Moments to go … not usual ones … in a zone of emergent coherent momentariness. As time runs amok through scenarios of custom, trade and condensation.
What’s condensation doing in that little trio? As a period of the distillation of essence it represents the inter-dimensional concentration of desire into that which tends to flicker through the lower dimensions as a self-confirming disturbance.
Quite unlike the holy fire of true disturbance which arises from atomic honesty and leaps to dimensional fleetness of transition without tracing psychic designs on the dreaming screen of standard time. The jig’s up and it may as well be merry. But there is no reality-burden on that wee wish at all.
In the precincts of another Eve there is no compulsion to move. At the same time there is no complacence about not moving … Quietism subsumed into an Essene-Zealot fusion … because of core sensitivity to the invitation (eternal in the coming) to respond: to that which is sheer aliveness communicating only love to one and all.
No need to agonize over the permutations of deafness to this music which have so far defined the context for biomortal storylining, and which insanely continue to demand more ‘tech assist’. Way better to be jobless than to work in that fabrique.
So, along with domestic duty juggling and general diary hopscotch, this got written. Almost a case of ‘look Mum, no hands’. After back lane mechanical endeavours, and before setting off for the oasis of the North where navigational attention comes to the end of charts, it remains to wish only goodness to all sentience in what is coming to be gone.