These writings are my words spoken to me in the mind of you. Not you.
You are free of them. Free to do with them as you like.
I have had my say. I am not you. The break is absolute.
But in you I am listening to myself.
I am speaking to being. I am.
You may listen to my listening and speak in my speaking. If you like.
Before you read this I already heard your answer: I know you assent.
The words themselves insist on it. They have taken you as they have me.
I am not them. I am free of them.
These words speak to me in the mind of you. And they speak you into the mind of me.
But we are both free of them. In their speaking me to you.
Now maybe you can see what I am about.
In all those words I communicated nothing to you.
This isn't ordinary prose.In them I saw being, speaking, independence, breaking, assenting...word messengers revealing holy sparks into the air between your and my eyes and this page.
I wrote them for the sheer pleasure of seeing them.
My listening was a seeing.
My speaking was a show. It never stops. Come with me. Weren't you there already? Didn't you see me seeing you see me?
I passed by as you stopped to see me pass by you stopping to see you pass by me.
In me and you the words are incarnate.
In them I can see you, and surely you can see me.
I have written you and me and laid us out.
My voice hangs in the air. Mobiles. Speaking crystallites.