Reality swirls around us—fleeting iridescent insects buzzing in the haze of summer air.
Nothing is in time.
All is within an instant and there is nothing of continuity.
Reality is eternal for there is nothing of it in time to end.
And reality is obvious because we realise it—nothing could be more apparent than what we come to know.
And there is nothing so perfect and accessible, nor anything better, for what we know is both beyond and within, its reality caught in the now as in a web of timeless apprehension.
