Hark the land most quiet for if the shadows which reach it, the flame shall lick the wounds of those who lest heal their wounds of ol’. An island as an isle in the capital of the vastness which contributes to the individual all-encompassing standing of the consciousness, as interconnected as it wishes to be separate. Egoic in the divine fascination with the knowledge that it can will itself to feel apart and all the same… is very much the whole. The same peace is then afforded to be brought to the almighty, for if they are we and we feel as I, then I am is the alternate innerstanding of me. To then fascinate over the scrubs that make this cloth, wound and interwoven in the oxymoronic attempt of understanding the fate which aligns the egoic separate and ultimately whole to meet and greet onto the very end. Glare less toward the jester, and discern their meaning, the jest is a mere ruse, a ruse to awaken the spirit to see a light. Willingness onto focus into energy brings forth the many triumphs of this land.

‍