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October 20, 2005
nobody in particular At first I found myself in a house in what I guess was Los Angeles, or the very far outskirts of it. It was a building that had relatively low ceilings and it had aluminum windows that were a bit high in certain rooms. The sky was very bright. There was a breeze. I sat by the wall in one of the back rooms and stared at the wall scraped into shape by a glacier which had passed by here a few million years ago and then again yesterday. The trees growing in the middle of the carpet were moving very slowly to their own wind. Insects were living in the bark and were the delicious food for small marsupials. Some had longer tails than others. They were all relatively small, yes, but they still varied in size significantly. A stream was near my feet and I was waiting for the large game to come and quench their thirst. They soon arrived. Several giant bisons looked at their reflections in the suddenly completely still water and then let their tongues cut into the surface of the frozen stream. They cut various shapes, intricately symmetrical, as if they were unique snowflakes burned through the surface and now slowly growing water. Water grew out of the openings, as if it were transparent grass, it flowered right under the noses of the bisons in a few seconds maybe and the large animals picked flower after flower, flower after flower after flower. The doorbell rang and I had to walk through all of what I saw to get to the living room and the hallway. The floor made different sounds in different rooms. Always different sounds. Nobody had really rang the bell. I opened the door and there was nobody indeed. We switched places. I returned as him to the room in which I had just seen the nature scene and it was now empty, the walls painted in a very bright white, and there, many, many tiny frames with unbelievably crisp little pictures. Because I was nobody particular now, not a real physical being, I could get closer and closer to them and could look at deeper and deeper details, further and further away from the frame itself. They were scenes flooded with living things, all somehow avoiding collisions, all dependent on each other, a glowing state of life. I wandered from frame to frame to frame until I realized that the frames were just the limits I had set up for myself and that all of what I saw was actually one and the same thing. And I had not left the room or the house, nor had I entered the house. There really was no house even. I was nobody, indeed, but because of that I was everybody as well. And not only did I see life, but I was part of it, I was a particle floating in the larger context of things, completely insignificant and completely vital to the system at the same time. And I saw that this was good. Well, actually far beyond that. Or somehow similar to something related to that.