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a membrane of knowing is stretched thin across a skull of borrowed time. thinning, thinning, until the light behind your eyes is not your own.petals of understanding curl at the edges, brown and brittle, crumbling between fingers that do not belong to you.little architect of cages, your walls are made of whisper and wish.map lacerations and ecchymoses like constellations and call it science, call it progress, call it whichever worthless terms your ego conjures. gloves stretched over clawed fingers; gloved fingers wrapped around guts. false kings and false peasants press their twinning wounds together and allow their blood to mingle, discovering they are not so different after all.a door that opens inward opens also outward, opens also into places where doors have no meaning.you think you understand, but you don't. you cannot.you build partitions from dust and call them eternal. you stack crowns atop soft skulls and name some divine, some monstrous; some more worthy than another you sort flesh by shape, essence by brightness, actions by morality, skills by aptitude, and convince yourselves there is distance between them. there is not.the angel and the beast share a grave. the god and the insect share a hunger. the king and the present share a fate.gaze upward in reverence and downward in disgust, but never so far in either direction that you notice you stand upon the same soil, beneath the same sky.all things which exist bear the mark of impermanence.but you do not have to keep your eyes closed.

you will arrive at THE LOTUSand we will teach you what it means to see.

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