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a thousand introspections lead to one singular point, eight arrows rise from south to north

around a glowing sphere, the blue bees in a six pointed star becoming seven above an

orange circle of an infinity of yellow within, two green bees circle horizontally from left to

right from above, or from right to left reflected, clockwise moving green bees, one stops

and the other hits, one green bee to the other green bee says nothing, an omega symbol

of green bees in an orange circle surrounded by yellow, one green bee breaks the reflection

the omega symbol inverted, the urn of the ashes of the past, the green bee rises to the

the centre of the seven pointed blue star, the pentagram of burning yellow, the green bee

becomes an emerald in the third basket of the prince, the other two baskets, being

miraculously balanced between existence and non-existence, emptiness, and nothingness

a snake coiled round an egg, a diamond within, carries away the the two baskets balanced,

the third basket remains, the emerald of the third basket, the eye of a green witch, the

green snake circling within, clockwise in my memory, counter attack to the sitting prince

upholding the lid of the basket in meditation, to look, and fall again for the trick, deep into

the abyss of all of time, holding the lid of the basket in the opposite hand as it so appears

to be, clash of symbols reverberating, wind up again to fall as a leaf does fall, as far as

motion in the desert goes, this is the stillness of an immediately exploding infantry, one

massive combustion in the desert sand, and every soldier standing, one after another in

waves of exploding men, yet all is still in the desert, yet all is still beneath the mask of death

all is question, all is doubt, all is fear, and all is alignment, and all is acceptance, and all is an

answer to a never ending solution, and all is a problem to an ever receding beginning, and

all is calculated, and all is chaos, and what is left is what remains, and what is right is yet to

be, and what I know about anything is few and far between a guess and faith, trust and

absolute doubt in all there is, the reversal of all of time and all of times sand made to one

diamond, the diamond in the egg shell splits, and water rushes out into the stream, the

spark lifts from the falling water into emptiness and creates space, and space shines on

as light is falling, as water is moving, from far into the horizon-less depth of time, ever

into the eye of Shiva, and as water moves into the molten core beneath the arch, rises

as steam rises, rainbows shift in rippling ways as curtains do at the sight of the wind,

as mist hangs suspended in the aethyrs like diamonds on the intersecting knots of the web

hanging as drops of dew hang on the grass, each one an infinite reflection, in each one

a mask, beneath the mask death wears, I am, and circling is the serpent, round the form

a thousand pieces of broken glass, mirrored images reflecting upwards into the emptiness

divinely wrought colour-shifting figments of phantoms and dancing along the scales of

the back of the serpent moving, round and round, the masked phantoms move between one

and one and infinitely altered, formless and yet ancient, day-less as the sun in the hands held

above the basket allows the light of love to shine in upon the mask spinning, lifting from

south to east and turning as an hourglass turns, split in every direction round the sun from

east to all one thousand points in the singular introspection of the third basket at the feet.

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