The Circle Swallows Its Center
In the early Summer of 2019, I lived through a prolonged period of visionary ecstasis of which I, apart from my journal's notes, remember surprisingly little; a mood distilled from succeding glimpses of intervowen eternity: a smell of cold soil in the garden, the warring of kites and crows above the forest, the promise of a coming harvest.
Dealing in prose became cumbersome. This collection of aphorisms became instead the fruit of this passing, blissful inspiration. They go on for a 101 until reality embraces itself in the end.