What ever gets done or created
are in the cracks of my life
the little spaces in between
the waves of epiphany and anguish.
Someplace where a root
can take hold or seedling sprout.

Conceiving a child
finding a treasure
thinking the master piece
being lucky beyond
my measure.
These things are from a space
so small as to be
another dimension.

That is where I live.
Against the grain
of spacetime and in between
everything else I am told
is important.


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The energy vectors that underlie our existence are effected by us and visa versa. While progeny is the only way we can pass on a form of our consciusness, people will forever try to hold the notion of thier own consciousness never disolving into chaos, which is the biggest fairy tale of them all.