When i was a child, the world, with all its mysteries scattered all around my body, was a question that i dared not ask. I was not afraid: i was overwhelmed. I did not know yet the language that could weave together the words, the sounds, the meaning which, like a new map, were replacing the twitching fabric of my dreams.
In the wake of the dying kite, I understood the meaning of time, of everybody's time, of the fear that wise ancient masters buried in the gilded spires of churches.
At a beach far away from any ocean, I, the observer, stood in awe of life and its infinity: I was nowhere nothing, but life was always there, and beyond. I, the wave, ran deep into the woods to feel it into my soul, to learn its tongue, boundless strains of myth pervading every cell of my brain.
Since then I, the eigenstate, often toasted to the life of infinity, because everywhere everything appeared the same, and nowhere did nothingness transpire. Life is the name for the emerging infinity of all infinities.