When the only thing you have to do is live,

not make or earn or serve or do,

what you do instead is think.

You think about you.

You always think about you,

but not always so purely,

so completely,

so utterly focused

on you.

And when you think too much,

you start to think like this.

You are not just part of existence,

you are all of it,

because without you,

without you as the witness

to the star farms and quarks,

the sound of seashore surf,

to jasmine scent, or the smell

of a wordless child’s head,

to the unutterable beauty

of bird feathers and snowflakes,

without you as the witness,

it is not there.

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