The floor is not there but we are not falling and neither are we still.
All is moving; change.
Watch the lights and listen to the bells and this, for us, will end.
And the pebbles on the beach are turning to sand. I watch them and know this. If all were made of stone suggested Jack - all things I asked - the air, the sea, all things.
A fine stream falls - time marked out but there is no need to turn the timer. The sand moves both ways - all ways, time does not move from place to place. Place moves - time stands still and we move past in flashes of momentary lights and bells.
Choice, brings the fear of death. With all that we accept we say no to all other possibilities and they are dead to us. Our past, a place stopped but still moving.
Nothing makes sense, it always has but I didn't know it. Only nothing can make sense.
Motion, such an odd concept when all is moving - ultra-normal. Only stopping is of note. From me to you - in mysterious ways.
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