We encounter reflection: soul of soul, spirit of being. Surprised by affectation, feeling cosmic songbirds. On occasion, to see perfection, as a wanderlust, penchants, heart travels. So much is
cloudy, the best she would give was her soul. To know it, as to share it. Full volume oxygen; daylight beliefs. Many avenues remain furtive; wrestling all in its senses—sugarcane, wheat, and
goodwill. So aloof—filled with meaning—ways we affect aesthetics. Such voltaic life … some hermetic elements … to discover properties, to absorb maxims, to understand paradox. Botanical
gardens. Parts unveiled. Remaining theological nonetheless. In a state of awe, knitting pieces, shocked by mayflies, examining nonexistence. (One told me: “Nothing exhausts mystery.”) An
axiom he lives by. With mystique souls, we see a balancing of spheres. To know mysticism, to explore yoga, requires something unspoken. Love of numen becomes public, becomes communal, such life, occasioned to inhale, slow exhaling. Many embers. Intricate underbrush. To nestle
intuition. By symphony, by orchestra – to cherish parts, to become consumed in parts—a life fragmented, a universe part vetted … knotted unto exploration, to fathom poly-ambrosia. A gut instinct, never quite clear, stemming from some primitive island.
