Here, we are reminded that we are surrounded by indications and hints. Sneaking suspicions. Tell-tale clues and evidence from deep within ourselves. Shards of half-remembered truths. Mind molds past into present and then into future. It is where these spheres overlap that we find ourselves in the whirlwind we know as fate.
Currents play across an inner topography; eddies spiral upon themselves to reveal guiding principles. The figure is movement and symmetry, pattern and pattern's answer. In it, we see windmill, flow, energy. The repetitions numb as echo builds on echo, numb as ceremony can numb us, forcing us to bore down into ourselves. Into the stillness inside the motion. Into the silence inside the noise. Into the Heart of the World. And it is, perhaps, only there we can be agents of Plan as Plan gives birth to us. Or is it the other way around? It is—it must be! And yet... In this shadow world, a world beyond clarity, a world whose every instant is coterminous with every other, our being precedes us. All notions of temporality are too-fragile things. They crumble beneath the weight of observed—felt—truth.
That which must be, already is.
