i wonder if living the chaos in all its fulness, if letting go with only the boundedness of recognising who we are becoming
is a bit like skiing full pelt down an arctic glacier, where the white-skinned slopes are dreams of art never penned, and the ice-wind swallowing your head is a million different entangled strains of music, and the powdered galaxies stretched into the black night sky overhead are faces and eyes of the extraordinary multitude of humans who walk this earth...