The spirit quivers like a flame. Formless, changing, moving, dancing. Matter is so solid, a life can hold a spirit if it dances, how can matter ever in its grid??
Sometimes one feels the visceral heart rending pain of the free flowing spirit when bound or tried to be gridded, in matter. Matter seems to snap to grid. Perhaps for matter read the mind. It grasps momentarily but all its efficiency of memory tries again to snap to grid the spirit. And then it cries. Because it is not so. It cannot be grasped in memory, in facts, in language, in matter. It can be just apprehended as ephemerally as life itself, lightly, it can only be lived. It exists only at the point of flow, the fount, the source. Beyond it matter and memory carry it in grids which is simply untrue. It cries and cries and cries. And in perhaps that moment of crying, at the source of living, finds itself again.
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