The pain we describe is only pain when we ascribe words to it.
A blade of grass has no looking-glass. It is not green by reason of it absorbing all colours but green.
A grassblade is an abstraction of beauty in a pure material form. It is so and not further.
And so are you. And so we are all — we who are in life alive now, who used to be alive, and who will be alive no more.
And the maelstrom of moments in which our beauty dances
exists as EveryNow
