Today was now before the horizon shook.
They came to enjoy the pie of fruit in wherever there was more of a mess than an extended chinchilla breaking off more than whatever he could chew onto.
There was once a before, and before that, there was a time that was even more before. And along came the next one, and before you knew it, there was nothing beyond what could be consumed between where there is more than what is to conceive. Alone, controlling not the thermal lights of dancing spiders, broken webs, a unicorn dancing its way to a green day.
There lingered the happiness of a once long, lost echo of a sparrow—taking a song and amplifying its turn to try and persuade the reality of tomorrow that there was, in fact, a yesterday in between all there could be seen among the brilliance of the warrior.
In this place, there was no peace before breakfast. Not unless there were 14 cabbage salads laid face down in the east wing. Unless, and until, there was uneventful soup and charred cherry beans rolling sideways and under the magic bell ring-dingling festivities of fancy flee-wing creatures.
Outside, a boat parade, elongating the horizon with such elegance in serenity, boiling cold thick like lightning in the egg tree. Pollen couldn’t be far, for even if there was a wild berry bumbling brazenly at howling toucans. A hummingbird would know better.
And now for the logic of the nesting.
Sit down and open your minds to page seven, and don’t start reading until the bag of Skittles belittles a baboon. For centuries, a wan wanderer in a wonderful onesie foretold of fire and stone. This epiphany was more like what could be found the last time we looked. But enough of this nonsense, and let’s begin the tale of treating tofu with talk therapy.
Just kidding.
There is no stopping the nonsense because sense beyond the senses is what we all came here looking for.
Before there was No More, there was Yes More. All Time was wanting what he couldn’t, and became more, and couldn’t be less more due to the need of never-ending mores. More Yes, told More No, there is always more. But No More wouldn’t hear of more; he found it all, and now there is no more than everything found.
I couldn’t look much less than I shouldn’t have already seen. No More said I couldn’t find him. Unknown, nowhere, nothing, no one, no how.
This was it! The end of the end. The one thing I can’t find is the one thing I don’t want to find. Finding No More means the end of Yes More. You either have it all, or you have to keep looking. Finding or founding. What a gracious act of mysterious mystery, of horizons beyond horizons.
It’s the symbol of reflections of light from the darkness, and the light that was let. There is, and was, and always will be more to know of in more unknowingly ways, forward towards the endless horizon of the forever unfolding. We are left beholding what is deep, high, low, slow, fast, in-between the sensory equipment—organic and machinery. The hybrid extension arising in real-time life living…
And then, Yes More found No More.
And the horizon unfolded, again.