She wonders why she should be overcome so frequently with nostalgia for times and places not her own. She can't see differences, only variety. There is no difference between love and empathy.
She often cannot tell where she stops and someone else begins. It's not a demarcated line. It is a fluid boundary, like the boundaries of this world; but we think they exist because we created them. It trickles down to the level of our bodies and minds. The separation is an invention to maintain sanity for that which we cannot quite grasp or understand, but if we are lucky, we aspire to feel.
The collective readiness required to handle the dissolution of the boundaries may never be obtained in all the years of the Earth. Understanding if this is something to lament is a useless endeavor. Better to appreciate and pass on the realization to those who are receptive. This is one of the Great Gifts; the realization of the lack of separation, and the contiguity of it all; both to give and to receive.
There was a time when she thought she could count the Great Gifts of the earth. Now she realizes they are limitless. She has a finite time to accumulate as many as she will let inside. Staying open and receptive, realizing perception is reality, and still she struggles. But that struggle is so glorious.
The most rewarding part of adding to the collection is becoming so full, that she must step outside, open up, and let them fly back into the sky. They are not literally leaving her. They are now a part of her heart and soul, a reflex. Her mind is simply done ruminating over them.
She thinks about the coincidences and potentials of everything surrounding her. And she smiles and laughs. Fucking Fantastic.
