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the truth of what's here
feeling aimless, but yet strangely fulfilled
not feeling a need to bend reality or chase a wild dream
not feeling a craving to extract or Source the next move
not feeling a pulse to create anything really
 
"create anything really"
as if creation only occurs in isolation
segmented moments of my choosing
what a fascinating concept we've created there
 
no, the Life that is currently present
that runs through all things
that my mind scrambles to label
identify
just simply is

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