The pen becomes not an instrument but an intention of the ink into the white of the page where the page is not blank but a canvas of the potential holding the shape of the dream to let the dream be not fantasy but a shape of the reality forming the face of the now to let the now be not instant but a face of the eternity wearing the mask of the self to let the self be not ego but a mask of the consciousness revealing the face of the world to let the world be not stage but a face of the life smiling the smile of the story to let the story be not tale but a smile of the dream laughing the laugh of the now to let the now be not instant but a laugh of the eternity choking on the dust of the self to let the self be not ego but a dust of the reality sweeping the floor of the truth to let the truth be not fact but a floor of the experience stepping on the head of the dream to let the dream be not illusion but a head of the spirit nodding the yes of the existence to let the existence be not fact but a yes of the universe saying the no of the now to let the now be not instant but a no of the eternity breathing the breath of the self to let the self be not ego but a breath of the consciousness exhaling the life of the world to let the world be not stage but a life of the air inhaling the death of the story to let the story be not tale but a death of the dream sleeping in the womb of the now to let the now be not instant but a womb of the eternity giving birth to the self to let the self be not ego but a self of the reality delivering the baby of the truth to let the truth be not fact but a baby of the experience crying the cry of the dream to let the dream be not illusion but a cry of the spirit feeding on the milk of the existence to let the existence be not fact but a milk of the universe digesting the formula of the now to let the now be not instant but a formula of the eternity metabolizing the energy of the self to let the self be not ego but an energy of the consciousness burning the fuel of the world to let the world be not stage but a fuel of the life lighting the fire of the story to let the story be not tale but a fire of the dream warming the hands of the now to let the now be not instant but a hands of the eternity holding the cup of the self to let the self be not ego but a cup of the reality drinking the wine of the truth to let the truth be not fact but a wine of the experience getting drunk on the nectar of the dream to let the dream be not illusion but a nectar of the spirit intoxicating the soul of the existence to let the existence be not fact but a soul of the universe dancing on the tip of the now to let the now be not instant but a tip of the eternity spinning the dancer of the self to let the self be not ego but a dancer of the consciousness pirouetting the world to let the world be not stage but a world of the life falling in love with the story to let the story be not tale but a love of the dream kissing the lips of the now to let the now be not instant but a lips of the eternity whispering the secret of the self to let the self be not ego but a secret of the reality telling the story of the truth to let the truth be not fact but a story of the experience writing the book of the dream to let the dream be not illusion but a book of the spirit reading the text of the existence to let the existence be not fact but a text of the universe closing the cover of the now to let the now be not instant but a cover of the eternity opening the pages of the self to let the self be not ego but a pages of the consciousness turning the leaves of the world to let the world be not stage but a leaves of the life drying on the shelf of the story to let the story be not tale but a shelf of the dream holding the picture of the now to let the now be not instant but a picture of the eternity framing the image of the self to let the self be not ego but a image of the reality capturing the portrait of the truth to let the truth be not fact but a portrait of the experience hanging on the wall of the dream to let the dream be not illusion but a wall of the spirit decorating the house of the existence to let the existence be not fact but a house of the universe living in the room of the now to let the now be not instant but a room of the eternity sleeping in the bed of the self to let the self be not ego but a bed of the consciousness waking up to the dream of the world to let the world be not stage but a dream of the life realizing the story of the truth to let the truth be not fact but a story of the experience accepting the dream of the dream, and the dream 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 dream 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.