A suitcase of tessellated shapes…
And you ask where I’m going.
But I can’t get the shapes out of my head so I say the words, I don’t know.
I never knew.
I need a different space to ask new questions to try to understand the mystery; the puzzle that is magic assembling before your eyes despite all odds against it, it fits and the tiny pieces gather momentum at their corners, spinning and whirring and whispering in their desperate plea to understand. Just like me.
To my surprise it disappears each time I blink.
I’m overthinking, I think.
If I could stop my mind for just a minute and take the time to reflect and breeeeathe harmoniously in sync with synchronicity, to stop and feel the rhythms and the energy pulsing through me, and you, perhaps we would see what infinity really has to offer.
But who’s keeping a record? And is there any point in seeking the pure untainted wholesome truth about what is really going on up there in the sky beyond our best-sighted eye?
I roll the last T-shirt into a tight sushi-like roll and sigh.