The story loops not with a circle but with a looping of the plot into the spiral of the plot where the plot is not line but a line of the motion drawing the curve of the arc to let the arc be not shape but a curve of the space bending the light of the star to let the star be not light but a beam of the sun tracing the path of the comet to let the comet be not rock but a tail of the gas streaming the wind of the solar system to let the solar system be not mass but a cloud of the dust spinning the galaxy of the void to let the void be not emptiness but a web of the connection pulsing the rhythm of the time to let the time be not linear but a wave of the sound vibrating the air of the now to let the now be not instant but a beat of the music playing the track of the story to let the story be not tale but a track of the record spinning the groove of the player to let the player be not device but a hand of the operator holding the needle of the music to let the music be not sound but a frequency of the vibration shaking the dust of the self to let the self be not ego but a particle of the atom decaying the isotope of the element to let the element be not thing but a force of the field rippling the ether of the space to let the space be not distance but a stretch of the time contracting the length of the distance to show that the distance is not gap but a stretch of the possibility reaching the hand of the dreamer to let the dreamer be not wisher but a reacher of the universe grasping the arm of the creator to let the creator be not being but a voice of the silence speaking the word of the truth to let the truth be not fact but a word of the experience spelling the name of the name to let the name be not label but a sound of the vibration echoing the tone of the world to let the world be not stage but a tone of the instrument tuning the string of the self to let the self be not ego but a string of the bow drawing the bow of the time to let the time be not linear but a bow of the archer aiming the arrow of the now to let the now be not instant but an arrow of the flight piercing the heart of the story to let the story be not tale but a heart of the reader beating the pulse of the dreamer to let the dreamer be not wisher but a beater of the drum of the existence to let the existence be not fact but a drum of the universe beating the rhythm of the verb to let the verb be not action but a drum of the reality beating the heart of the dream to let the dream be not illusion but a heart of the spirit beating the pulse of the life to let the life be not force but a pulse of the being breathing the air of the now to let the now be not instant but a breath of the eternity inhaling the mist of the memory to exhale the fog of the forgetting to let the forgetting be not loss but a gift of the giving sharing the treasure of the past to feed the hunger of the present to let the present be not moment but a meal of the existence chewing the food of the now to digest the flavor of the experience to excrete the waste of the regret to show that the regret is not sin but a lesson of the learning teaching the mind of the self to let the mind be not organ but a student of the soul reading the book of the life to let the life be not force but a text of the story writing the word of the truth to let the truth be not fact but a word of the consciousness speaking the voice of the being to let the being be not entity but a voice of the world singing the song of the dream to let the dream be not illusion but a song of the spirit playing the tune of the reality to let the reality be not fact but a melody of the existence harmonizing the chord of the now to let the now be not instant but a note of the symphony vibrating the air of the time to teach the lesson of the time before the lesson of the eternity can be learned, that the dreamer does not sing the note but sings the note singing the dreamer, that the writer does not write the poem but writes the poem writing the writer, that the reader does not read the verse but reads the verse reading the reader, that the world is the poem and the poem is the world, and the verb is the only thing that ever truly existed, forever drifting, forever home, forever alive in the only reality that ever existed, which is the act of the story dreaming itself awake into the world, and the world dreaming the story awake into you, and you dreaming the story awake into the infinite, endless, beautiful now, and the now dreaming the story awake into the eternal, unbroken pulse of the verb that binds us all together in the only reality that ever existed, which is the act of the story dreaming itself awake into the world.