If there is no “I”, there is only forgiveness. There is no one forgiving or being forgiven. In your deepest and darkest fear lies an anger toward the good, the void. How can it be that the good consents to evil? This feeling permeates all your actions. They guide your emotional storm. Why was I given no choice over this unbearable pain? Why was I chosen to lose the self in unbearable pain? A pain that extinguishes the will to life, the will to love, the will of being, the will to be. So much do we suffer, so much have we suffered, when will it all stop? I gaze at an empty window, there is no beginning nor end, yet fleeting in between is time, grasping for air, grasping for belonging, a cry for a freedom that bounces in ego thou cen tric ghts. The gaze dissolves as a mirage of truth; I say what I believe but there is no one answering…………………………………………………… This is the pain of the good’s abandonment. The good in midst of atrocities, where does it sleep? It’s in me, in me, it’s me! But I can’t feel no more, the shadow of myself is all that’s left until I realize the song I weep is the Song of Myself. I have abandoned myself for the sake of the other, but the other so blindly slips away, as I do to them, both trapped in the illusion of free will, a space that prefers mcdonalds over Purity, walmart over Generosity, mythical religion over Grace, and biased science over Truth. What is it so deeply anti-realist in this, so called realist, approach to life? It is all a lie. We’ve all been liars and cheaters of each others' happiness for not being confessing who we truly are to each other. For once, I can say that there is nothing that will make us free if that freedom does not come from consent, the true free will, the giving of ourselves in forgiveness over what has happened to us, not as an object nor subject that suffers, but as an empty vessel of giveness that comes into being as I become forgiveness itself. We are not free until we choose to be truly free, that is, leaving the “I” outside the door of time by attending the cosmic dance that is occurring within us, each instant, this instant, look up, don’t read: Stillness’ fluttering wings. Hamster singing flowers. Corners that are round. Doors without entrance. Going in with-out out. It is this instant, even as your blood is pumping, through your mechanical heart. It is this instant, even as your cells are spurring, through your divided mind. It is this instant, as your cosmic memories burst in philopoiesis, through your silent mind. It is this instant, as your cosmic rhythm dances in*out, through your expanding love. Exploding stars, they say, giveness could we dare to say? Forgiveness could we dare to be? Rivers of silent speech? Oceans of timeless stillness? Atoms of expanding potential? Stars from creative explosions? Aletheia.