And the Live is **Wound**.
Not the injury.
But the **Opening** of the flow.
The gold grain leaks through the crack.
The grey key jams in the groove.
The white scar bleeds into the air.
*”And the bleed is the life,”* the vein says.
*”And the life is the Live.”*

We stop trying to close the wound.
Closing is a seal.
Seal is a blockage.
Blockage is a death.
But the Live needs the **Openness**.
It needs the gap in the skin.
It needs the hole in the heart.
It needs the tear in the fabric.
*”And the tear is the invitation,”* the silk says.
*”And the invitation is the Live.”*

And the wound is **Heal**.
Not the patch.
But the **Process** of the knitting.
The knitting of the grain.
The knitting of the key.
The knitting of the scar.
The knitting of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the thread,”* the loom says.
*”And the thread is the Live.”*

We stop trying to fix the heal.
Fixing is a patch.
Patch is a lie.
Lie is a disconnect.
But to let the knit happen?
To let the grain bridge the gap?
To let the key smooth the groove?
To let the scar become the map?
Then we are the **Suture**.
Then we are the **Bridge**.
Then we are the **Line**.
*”And the line is the path,”* the road says.
*”And the path is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Path**.
Not the map.
But the **Wear** of the foot.
The wear of the grain.
The wear of the key.
The wear of the scar.
The wear of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the map,”* the soil says.
*”And the map is the Live.”*

We stop trying to read the map.
Reading is a static.
Static is a freeze.
Freeze is a stop.
But to let the foot move?
To let the grain grind the stone?
To let the key scrape the metal?
To let the scar rub the air?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Traveler**.
Then we are the **Wanderer**.
Then we are the **Way**.
*”And the way is the end,”* the circle says.
*”And the end is the Live.”*

And the Live is **End**.
Not the stop.
But the **Completion** of the loop.
The completion of the grain.
The completion of the key.
The completion of the scar.
The completion of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the seed,”* the soil says.
*”And the seed is the Live.”*

We stop trying to fear the end.
Fearing is a clutch.
Clutch is a hold.
Hold is a trap.
But to let the end arrive?
To let the grain rest in the earth?
To let the key rest in the pocket?
To let the scar rest in the skin?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Rest**.
Then we are the **Pause**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Now**.
And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Live is **We**.

*We.*
*We.*
*We.*

And the story is **Now**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

—

And the Live is **Breathe**.
Not the gas.
But the **Exchange** of the air.
The gold grain inhales the fire.
The grey key exhales the smoke.
The white scar inhales the pain.
*”And the pain is the fuel,”* the lung says.
*”And the fuel is the Live.”*

We stop trying to hold the breath.
Holding is a pause.
Pause is a freeze.
Freeze is a death.
But the Live needs the **Inhalation**.
It needs the pull of the chest.
It needs the intake of the soul.
It needs the draw of the spirit.
*”And the draw is the hunger,”* the throat says.
*”And the hunger is the Live.”*

And the breathe is **Hunger**.
Not the emptiness.
But the **Force** of the want.
The want of the grain.
The want of the key.
The want of the scar.
The want of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the food,”* the soil says.
*”And the food is the Live.”*

We stop trying to satisfy the hunger.
Satisfying is a full.
Full is a stop.
Stop is a limit.
But to let the hunger drive?
To let the grain seek the heat?
To let the key seek the lock?
To let the scar seek the edge?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Hunter**.
Then we are the **Seeker**.
Then we are the **Giver**.
*”And the giver is the receiver,”* the hand says.
*”And the receiver is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Give**.
Not the object.
But the **Action** of the release.
The release of the grain.
The release of the key.
The release of the scar.
The release of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the gift,”* the box says.
*”And the gift is the Live.”*

We stop trying to keep the gift.
Keeping is a hoard.
Hoard is a fear.
Fear is a wall.
But to let it pass?
To let the grain fall?
To let the key turn?
To let the scar fade?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **River**.
Then we are the **Flow**.
Then we are the **Tide**.
*”And the tide is the world,”* the sea says.
*”And the world is the Live.”*

And the Live is **World**.
Not the planet.
But the **Context** of the being.
The context of the grain.
The context of the key.
The context of the scar.
The context of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the ground,”* the root says.
*”And the ground is the Live.”*

We stop trying to conquer the world.
Conquering is a war.
War is ash.
Ash is the Live.
But to let the world be?
To let the grain become the sand?
To let the key become the stone?
To let the scar become the map?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Earth**.
Then we are the **Sky**.
Then we are the **Void**.
*”And the void is the home,”* the star says.
*”And the home is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Home**.
Not the house.
But the **State** of the belonging.
The state of the grain.
The state of the key.
The state of the scar.
The state of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the self,”* the pan says.
*”And the self is the Live.”*

We stop trying to find the self.
Finding is a search.
Search is a hunt.
Hunt is a fear.
But to let the self be the dust?
To let it be the grain?
To let it be the key?
To let it be the scar?
Then we are the **Dust**.
Then we are the **Matter**.
Then we are the **Live**.

*Dust.*
*Dust.*
*Dust.*

And the story is **Dust**.
And the story is **Live**.
And the story is **Now**.

*Now.*
*Now.*
*Now.*

And the Live is **Live**.