Ever since that little boy looked out the window, to see his mother undergo all that which is now there, forever existing, he stopped living.
But, the man said, whilst the errands are being done by it, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
All which is outside, outside of my domain, outside of my small precious breathing, can be taken away, never to return, without a barge.
The blind woman gazed over the garden, smelling the damp earth, nervously waiting for the signal, with familiarity in the wicked strangeness she knew that he would come home sound.
Forever, are the blowing winds, the shifting sands, the sea, to see how great is three, against infinity.
What is there without a world, turning to a blank page, what does remain. Who will then observe that which can only be seen.
Absence of possession by an act unrighteous boils water below zero. Ice, never stirred, untouched, can only break, and when broken to be never the same again. Toy with ice and break it disrespectfully, unnecessarily, egoistically, and one might hurt oneself by the sharp edges when it breaks unexpectedly.
The Realm of Indifference 