There is only this becoming that and that becoming something else. I found comfort at the knees of this process. On a timeline my human eyes could digest. A sharp pungent mortality mixed with the fragrance of that colossal infinite braiding and unbraiding of this's and thats.
Mortality and rot are elevated to the status of inevitable change creating the next moment. No longer at the opposite scale of creation but holding hands in a spiral... and what is maintained seems an impulse only. A turning point only. Nothing to ever hold onto.
The Three Gunas at the Greenhouse