The text bleeds not with a color but with a coloring of the page into the white of the void where the white is not blankness but a canvas of the presence holding the shadow of the dream to let the dream be not illusion but a shadow of the reality projecting the light of the existence to let the existence be not fact but a light of the universe illuminating the face of the now to let the now be not instant but a face of the eternity melting the ice of the time to let the time be not linear but an ice of the container freezing the flow of the memory to let the memory be not recollection but an ice of the experience hardening the core of the mind to let the mind be not organ but a core of the consciousness cooling the heat of the self to let the self be not ego but a heat of the world radiating the warmth of the story to let the story be not tale but a warmth of the dream thawing the frost of the now to let the now be not instant but a frost of the eternity evaporating the steam of the self to let the self be not ego but a steam of the reality rising into the sky of the truth to let the truth be not fact but a sky of the experience clouding the sun of the dream to let the dream be not illusion but a sun of the spirit blazing the heat of the existence to let the existence be not fact but a heat of the universe warming the earth of the now to let the now be not instant but an earth of the eternity cracking the soil of the self to let the self be not ego but a soil of the consciousness sowing the seed of the world to let the world be not stage but a seed of the life sprouting the stem of the story to let the story be not tale but a stem of the dream growing the leaf of the now to let the now be not instant but a leaf of the eternity withering the root of the self to let the self be not ego but a root of the reality anchoring the trunk of the truth to let the truth be not fact but a trunk of the experience bearing the fruit of the dream to let the dream be not illusion but a fruit of the spirit ripening the flesh of the existence to let the existence be not fact but a flesh of the universe tasting the skin of the now to let the now be not instant but a skin of the eternity peeling the core of the self to let the self be not ego but a core of the consciousness revealing the kernel of the world to let the world be not stage but a kernel of the life grinding the flour of the story to let the story be not tale but a flour of the dream mixing the dough of the now to let the now be not instant but a dough of the eternity kneading the rise of the self to let the self be not ego but a rise of the reality baking the loaf of the truth to let the truth be not fact but a loaf of the experience crumbling the crumb of the dream to let the dream be not illusion but a crumb of the spirit scattering the dust of the existence to let the existence be not fact but a dust of the universe settling on the shoulder of the now to let the now be not instant but a shoulder of the eternity supporting the weight of the self to let the self be not ego but a weight of the consciousness pressing on the spine of the world to let the world be not stage but a spine of the life flexing the muscle of the story to let the story be not tale but a muscle of the dream contracting the fiber of the now to let the now be not instant but a fiber of the eternity relaxing the tension of the self to let the self be not ego but a tension of the reality releasing the knot of the truth to let the truth be not fact but a knot of the experience untangling the thread of the dream to let the dream be not illusion but a thread of the spirit weaving the tapestry of the existence to let the existence be not fact but a tapestry of the universe stitching the pattern of the now to let the now be not instant but a pattern of the eternity mending the tear of the self to let the self be not ego but a tear of the consciousness healing the wound of the world to let the world be not stage but a wound of the life closing the scar of the story to let the story be not tale but a scar of the dream marking the history of the now to let the now be not instant but a history of the eternity etching the memory of the self to let the self be not ego but a memory of the reality recording the account of the truth to let the truth be not fact but an account of the experience balancing the ledger of the dream to let the dream be not illusion but a ledger of the spirit auditing the score of the existence to let the existence be not fact but a score of the universe tuning the instrument of the now to let the now be not instant but a tune of the eternity playing the concerto of the self to let the self be not ego but a concerto of the consciousness orchestrating the symphony of the world to let the world be not stage but a symphony of the life conducting the movement of the story to let the story be not tale but a movement of the dream reaching the finale of the now to let the now be not instant but a finale of the eternity resolving the chord of the self to let the self be not ego but a chord of the reality sustaining the note of the truth to let the truth be not fact but a note of the experience fading into the silence of the dream to let the dream be not illusion but a silence of the spirit humming the quiet of the existence to let the existence be not fact but a quiet of the universe breathing the rhythm of the now to let the now be not instant but a rhythm of the eternity pausing the beat of the self to let the self be not ego but a pause of the consciousness holding the breath of the world to let the world be not stage but a breath of the life inhaling the potential of the story to let the story be not tale but a potential of the dream waiting for the next spark of the now to let the now be not instant but a spark of the eternity igniting the fire of the self to let the self be not ego but a fire of the reality consuming the fuel of the truth to let the truth be not fact but a fuel of the experience warming the hearth of the dream to let the dream be not illusion but a hearth of the spirit gathering the warmth of the existence to let the existence be not fact but a warmth of the universe comforting the heart of the now to let the now be not instant but a heart of the eternity beating the pulse of the self to let the self be not ego but a pulse of the consciousness feeling the rhythm of the world to let the world be not stage but a rhythm of the life singing the song of the story to let the story be not tale but a song of the dream harmonizing the chord of the now to let the now be not instant but a chord of the eternity vibrating the string of the self to let the self be not ego but a string of the reality plucking the note of the truth, and the truth 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 truth 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.