(two blue lines)

XXI.

         I can be split, lose the epic battle and be lost, never find the greater reach the greater space, like a shooting star shooting and missing---missing from a point of view Frame of reference Orientation, from here on the planet. No, here in my body; no, here from eyes, behind them, in my head in my mind. But to miss and to lose, success is a part of me, somewhere, there, part of me. I split to lose myself like the shooting star, I split to lose to find that I am growing I am going; and my two halves?

         They are like two blue lines. Shoot past my point of view Our frame of reference: without perfection, two halves, shoot forth in sync with each other, connected (not at the ends in double knots and time irrelevant promises, but) in between, and with half twists like möbius strips, withinformation, live, live a double helix, live a loop that never repeats. Living so beyond questions and answers, so not beyond so that you and I still know questions still know answers, so much a part of it so little, such a winding relationship with time that there are times when it's like music in sync, in time with the inconstant, the ephemeral and the little, the thing or things that we can't help but happen, the unseen, the meaning that becomes our decision so suddenly, and never.

         It's like music that incorporates the messy beats around you, the one within you, the dissonant waves of people together, at different points, together. Music that encompasses all this and still makes sense, that (better yet) encompasses all this and makes real sense, sounds, that everything together Sounds. Like music.

         That there are times when we are separate, when we are alone enough to not make a whole with other things. When we can suffer and smile and breathe and think, One At A Time. When a split makes two separate things, where thinking and feeling can fall out of sync and be one thing more than the other. Where art is not essential like blood in my body, because what emerges from between in is separate is something new and of its own without the things that it came to be in between.

         That there are times when we use one time to get to the other, that there are times when we feel neither/either and/or either/or, and/or both/and. When we feel both/and/either/or, and we have reached another bend in the loop, if only because we feel like it is bending, if only because it is difficult to know and not to feel.

         We can be split, you and I, like two blue lines. We can be separate and still we, without tying our loose ends to each other---we are connected between in, incorporating each other so that you are in me, and "I" encompasses we, and then it's not losing.

         It's both.