You play with the great globe of union, you that see everyone so clearly and cannot be seen. Even universal
intelligence gets blurry when it thinks you may leave. You came here alone, but you create hundreds of new worlds.
Spring is a peacock flirting with revelation. The rose gardens flame. Ocean enters the boat. I throw it all away, except this love for Shams.
I Throw It All Away, Rumi
Lately some businesses we know of have closed their doors, due to various reasons, rental pressures, bullshit from organizations, the general pitfalls of running a modern business in a changing business climate. Realization mustn’t rely on revelation. A good part of the world depends on that, for something to tell them some thing. Problems arise when the order of things get jumbled up and one comes before the other. The ocean, indeed, enters the boat.
Even universal intelligence gets blurry when it thinks you may leave.
Over-intellectualized/advertised/zealous. Even poetry is not spared this ego.
But, don’t you forget, you could be me, and I could be you. The premise of my survival.