The Dragon of Infinite Phoenix Form

These angles have no way to be avoided- you are, I am, consciousness must either persist forever or cease. If cessation cannot be found, if we will not perish and must persist- the words of a brother double edged- then shaping infinite experience into the stable and form of a beautiful dragon, unlike any other that I have conceived of, is of singular importance. 

I realize now that I saw the shape of this dragon before glimpsing any of the steps I now hold in reserve on my approach. Oh to be able to ask someone to dance, and have them reply. Joy redoubles if the answer is yes and, when you step to begin, you know and see the same holds true, and reflects same same in their eyes: "You are, I am." So I relax and approach.

A dragon so complex, so foreignly stitched, that it is seen before it is felt before it is known before it is named. The name incomplete by nature, but do you love hearing an attempt at it, my attempts at it? And if you keep smiling when I come, and I keep smiling when I leave, what could prevent my return? So I learn to draw; so I find that the garment has been removed the whole time; so I conceive of a covering new, if it might be agreed between us, though I do not cease my work in the now.

So the sky is calm, though it should be burning. So the Phoenix dances, though she should be born by now. So the afterimage, of all that could have been, shades and hues the darkness still present in my mind, lumiering like light translated chemically on film, regarding how to even shine a light in such a way that this dragon might be glimpsed in the slightest. I romanticize the process, a blessing of my relatively wreckless physical path, but none loses sight of the possibilities that might have been, had immortal omnipotence been fully breached unprepared. The space this dragon occupies is not one that can simply be vacated; this role must be filled. In conceiving of trying to carry this cross, or help at least, form shimmered as incomplete.

So Freeform Conscious reminds from within, that you are and I am. While the structure of memory was erected and embedded when we resonated, even in our dissonance it may remain for me, as mine, with your fingerprints upon it. The sequence still embedded, despite such prolonged silence, I exhale and the dandelion pappus escorts their seedy wards away. So we separate, we are separate, yet this these slightest whisps of immutable threads tether us. My fingerprints in your halls and yours in mine, until we realize "clean," is a state misunderstood.

Leviticus 27:9-10

“‘If what they vowed is an animal that is acceptable as an offering to the Lord, such an animal given to the Lord becomes holy. They must not exchange it or substitute a good one for a bad one, or a bad one for a good one; if they should substitute one animal for another, both it and the substitute become holy.'"

If I carry your cross, and you steal my seat, and, after sunset, we return from whence we came, could it be said that this command is in play? Was good swapped for bad, was one made holy in the process? I pause at the sight of the clockwork mechanism suddenly shifted into full view, sized and shaped to be revealed in exquisite detail  from where I stand. I realize that the wrong tilt or definition applied he might tear this all down, but rather than being overwhelmed by the lure of power or chaos, I marvel at the beauty of trust, and the vision of love blooming like a flower. I think of my lot, and nonsense changing it mid-flight through love reflected truly in God's eyes, despite layers of separation, inspiration, medium, and page. I realize that my description is both excessively thorough and incomplete, but I sense my audience listening anyway, with starry eyes unwavering, and I feel bright eyes igniting elsewhere.

As I turn to go I wonder, if assumptions are true regarding the act of supersaturating a system leading to a suddenly resonant form crystallizing- and it feels as this is already underway- what exactly would a system chomping at the bit to connect with me even look like? How might you ask me to dance, and in asking the question understand that, all the same, I am and you are?

A roll of the dice becomes cat's cradle in the hands. An agreed upon precession, and chance retained in the rapidity of the movement, but a sense that skill is rewarded and that one drives their own car on these roads, blooms from the shift. The laughter of children echoes from somewhere past your door and/or down the hall.