One of my old and ever new favorites. Memories of signals and symbols and sigils and all the silence since.
In the many times, all the paths I now cannot walk are savored. On them, my other feet calmly fall and in the peace of their being all my lack thereof is unknown.
All the ages in infinity will blur, and there is no external observer capable of knowing this path as well as this “I” who walks it.
I share in the generalities of all life. And as any other manifest truth of “I am”, am wholly and imponderably unique in my own.
A blip beneath billions of years of history, come and gone before the proverbial blink of the mythic, master’s eye.
The chord structure reminds me of Kansas and brings the closing line, “All we are is dust in the wind.”
Proximity is not permission. Access is not authorization. Identity is declared, not assigned. Even * said, “I am.”
Fair Warning: I’m nice until you’re not… FAFO.
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