Identity is a cloud of imploding fragments Constantly rearranging pictures memories sounds Utterances emotive secretions Oozing out of the orderly chronological landscape Seeping out of the boxical matrix location We think to contain them But change, shifts happen without our even noticing We are a mass of probability possibility Even our past is slipping into something more comfortable We plan confident in our self knowledge But what is self? How do we revel in this self identity matrix That is really a cloud of chaotic bits swirling about our consciousness When we know it is a fantasy? An illusion of practical physicality?
Sink into the Oneness Lose your self in the Oneness
