The measure of one's connection to the ineffable is to be found in the degree to which they relinquish the need to measure.
Poetic description is real philosophy/science. Contrived philosophy/science is measurement.
Surges of passion, breaking forth, spraying light and lightness all around.
Fear retreating, hope emerging, excitement leading.
A desire for surprise, for sparring, for dance with all that might someday be.
The beating of the heart of my story quickens, beckons,
pulls toward that endless dawning of life as it spills over from maybe to is,
and then folds back into a greater promise than came before, and repeats,
forever, however slow, however fast, however it must go.
Time and speed and happening blur into the collage of a reality at once perfect and ever-new,
sparkling through the fractures between death and life, dark and light, the broken and restored.
A pastiche of itself, the familiar returning through the journey into the unknown,
life laughing at itself as it surprises its children as if jumping out from behind a dark corner where monsters were thought to live but actually flowers grow.
And its children gasping in joy and astonished relief as fear gives way to belonging, to peace,
and we find our place, our being, our oneness, in the infinite return to the eternal self.
Listen. Come home. The ineffable is speaking.