The Air

The air, that’s what it is, the real stuff. Something about it, I’m not sure- it blinks now and again. That beat, that flicker, it goes in and out, man, it’s a pulsing vision- black on the outside, a blinding globe in the center. It’s gotta be what tells me what to think, to know. I know what this is, and I think I believe it. I do, I do believe it. I have to. It’s all different, and whatever it seems, it IS. It isn’t, but only because you’re different as you read this, but that’s the point. Every consciousness is a different person, personality, and reality, but it’s all valid. Accept it, the intelligence, or, at least, what seems to be intelligence, is equally the drop of the ocean as that which seems not to be is. It’s more, it’s bigger, and that’s okay. Just don’t pretend to know, and the doors will open. Although it may be our grandchildren that finally pick the locks…but who knows if we aren’t those grandchildren themselves?