We are all just passing through.   Our time here is spent reluctantly as the viper swirl begins to inhibit us.  We are transferred down mechanisms with no glorifications.  We have spent time waiting for the evaporation.  Nautical cleansing all around the presumptuous raft swing of fate.  Paddling ourselves towards the eminent beast fear of some new tadpole plurific language.  Our remains that would debacle us.  Swimming in the calculated water across the transcended mechanism.  Waiting for all of these moments to pass away, so that we may return to the cosmic shelter of enlightenment.  Spin the gears.  Waste the fears.  We are in the crust tip of night.

Salutary deliverance.  An elite measure of transcendental fate.  No chapel barristers settling down your unlikely mode of resistance.  I have seen all these deep within the universal plateaus the mind.  Where the Self regiments.  So uncarefully targeted the bones to faith.  When the body expires the mind will emigrate with it.  And I will return away from the atoms and molecules to infuse back into the black hole saga that platform differentiates only subtly from the materialistic world that surrounds.  

A momentary glimpse at the alternate life cycle that exists just beyond the windows and the doors of the mind.  All these different views of night wheel target faith.  Just beyond the shelter there is terror.  Just beyond the menacing night swirl there is a new patten of rusted soul clearance.  And this is when we return to the true light.  And this is when we plant our feet in the new internal exhaustation manifestation.

How I long to become one, once again, with the black hole darkness.  How I long, once again, to cease these limitless patterns of the mind to be once again with objective unity.  How I long, once again, to eradicate the mathematical quotient principle and return to the place with nothing but space.  Would it that it were one more meteor crash, to deliver this nauseous target life once again into the new pneumonic view patterns restlessly weaving out through the universal void.

Where there is darkness, there is light.   Where there is tragedy, there is a new muscle deliverance of might.   My might, I might wrestle restlessly once again into void, far away into the void, where there are no more patterns but the mathematical evolution of atoms into molecules, molecules into whatever makes sense to direct inside the universal acceptance model of what is not right or wrong, but simply just what is.   We can wrestle with this tempestuous pain.  Or we just allow the cylinder to begin to swirl over all of pretentious credence back into the limitless rejuvenation of light.  From darkness there is light.  From limitless there is might.  Might I?  I would never know.  The Self descends and wobbles out articulating through the barricades.  And I am all and everything and one, once again.