And he answered, "It is the hand of the spirit that is painting now."

The world moves through me like the sun through trees, the ocean tide high and low, my heart beating... bump bump, bump bump.

Unchangeable coming and going...

That is enough.

The mind lies and tells me I am moving away or towards perfection (ideal) I must remember neither are true, both are are constant. Neither are true both are constant bump bump, bump bump.

I see you pride.

I am trying to arrange objects/ideas until they don't seem arranged, until they feel like a stream bubbling in the woods or the wind in the leaves.

bump bump, bump bump