What we see, we are programmed to see;
it is there, but it isn’t,
collapsing and relapsing in every instant.
All through time, which is a trick,
an illusion that doesn’t exist;
a consequence created, pretending to tick.
On a plain of knowing, reflecting our gift,
that only matters and truly lives,
within our ever evolving and loving spirit.
I see hope in every blink of the eye,
from here to the sky and beyond the blonde stars above.
And through it love,
interspersed and rehearsed among all,
who agree to play and stay within its reaches.
Again and again,
we form habits out of our actions;
acting and then reacting,
until we become craftsmen of our own unquestioned second nature.