objects and forms and breath, imagery from the memory and the nod that there are creatures living their reality, now. Afar but all at once. Now--running through the plains, drinking nourishing water, feeling the sun beat down on their furry backs. Escaping, running toward something, doing. Being.
And that is exactly it. The emotion of sadness and beauty overtakes... fleeting perfection, and somehow drawn out, to write this reflection, to bring the realization that all is perfection into another Now.
Hello to you, hello to me, we are divine, and we ARE... perfection in all the creation's glory of the Universe.
Now is all there is right and it's too bad I can't share it with everyone of the future, unless they feel the same too. It's the collective consciousness sensation, harnessed somehow within the world (.....is it physical?). It is passing through me
and it feels like perfection
Nothing is Something Worth Doing (Shpongle)
and:
