Far from the hubbub, your anxiety is palpable, like a rumble of a plane at takeoff from a runway. Your quiet mumble confirms your impatience. “It’s getting dark. We should move on.” I gently look your way, my eyes caressing yours. I lightly touch your left forearm, and that bodily motion sensor like a trip wire stills you. My calmness saturates. “Sit here with me for a while.” You take a moment to experience my tortoise time. Disquiet’s wind sheer rushes over its shell. We slumber awake, allow ourselves to lapse into more than a while. What you miss so much throughout the day, that which slips out of your grasp, is out of reach — the beautiful invisible — emerges from the periphery, and the curtain is pulled back. Behind the scenes the inescable beauty of truth shows its colors. It’s scalable immeasurability breaks countless rules.
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