as a turtle of eternity, to abstract within mySelf is evolutional prerogative. from such a featherstance, unmoored and let loose on the seas of cognition, my essential faculties explore the relics of significance lodged within a correspondent synchronicity which has no mercy for distortions. in this garden of no finality, the choice of seeds and weeds arises, trailing along with it the burr of cause and effect, sowing and reaping, planting and eating. Within this plot where i decree my own assimilations, i spin and machinate, testing the soil while asking the Greatest of Spirits to guide me in my blind task. after an indeterminant passage of undulating electric clouds denoting time, the ship of senses runs aground a submerged obstacle. This is how i know i’m being lead and answered. The jolt reverberates, sending prickly fingers of subterranean fire upward along the smooth corridor of contemplation. The precious inner cargo is endangered: life is leaking, dueling against itself. I am its patron and hold its fate between my teeth, but i can’t decide to chew or spit. deep within, a gastric rumbling bellows like a russian deprived of wheat and sunfields. My inheritance of all-ingestation arrives unexpectedly, due to the death of a certain repressive figure whose passing was facilitated by day-hour siphonings of its turgid frothings. exploded are the coffers, and wealth spills out of what seemed before like empty skies. In a little while, the skywomb contracts, expelling me complete with diagrammatic tables of time and skins sizzling with life. i return to the garden, confidently shuffling packets of seeds and charting a plan for planting.