conversation with an oracle

now i know what the void of passion feels like. passion being the sensation of accomplished connectedness with the unhindered passion, love, heart, beauty, and weeping tears of what is coming to be all-fruiting in one single moment. as if having looked parallel to the ground for my entire existence only to look down and in that bending of light away from the cave wall, so being enowned as the gathering point for all beauty, love, passion that can ever exist and does inevitably in the only present that matters, my unending boundedness to now. this thing without beginning or end. this non-thing. this wordless. this timeline goes on infinitely in both directions. all directions. now. not ever. not never. soul wrenching fury gathering and absorbing, gathering and absorbing, gathering and absorbing as the sense apparatus and the abounding world of furious emotion unifies; literally unifies itself with the self.

this is a passionless void. this is what i've thought of time after time. the pain of being without sensation. yes, this is ironic. i think even more so now that i feel as though i might understand it. it is now that i write without thinking very much at all. wondering, paining over what makes sense to be called practical impermanence. beautiful excitement of new love and a new friend, and what maybe i don't know, might be the unending pain of a void of happiness as a result. where is my grounding in all of this? if there is a god, what has happened to me? and if it is not too filled with ridiculous purpose, why? if not, then i address this to reality, to which i am inevitably bound. bring me to the oracle. to the soul opening burst of light and enownedness as the gathering. come myself to the oracle's pitch. but then, i'm also told that this i've already found.