We are an infinite spiral twisting through time, acquiring shapes as we go along, governed by the dimensions where our creative spark was lit.

Our trajectory is continuous and its transitions indivisible.

We reside where the validity of All is contingent upon the observer and our real form is energy vibrating through the common field accessed by consciousness

Perception is the apparatus through which reality folds and enfolds, expands and contracts.

Our wind-chafed faces form structures vast in complexity and design, while our inner artistry remains an expression of the larger without -- a fluctuating canvass of dimensionless probability, the parameters of which are perceived within the mind who veils the subtlest details of Truth.

Yet The Way is simple.

And when we gage upon the fiery goldness of a late spring afternoon, or as the grey dawn unfolds wetly from the east, we sometimes catch a glimpse of that truth, realizing it lies further than our eyes can peer, yet it could be no closer.

It lies within.

There is a group in the mountains. They say our perception of a place existing in time is inaccurate, false. For beyond and within this illusionary reality is the void. A region where a concept such as time ceases to have meaning. There is another group of men. Those who follow the eightfold path, who say that, in the sphere of the spirit, such divisions of time, of the future, present and past do not exist, and that all of these have contracted into a single flicker in the present where life quivers in its ultimate sense.