Perhaps, I require a translation for listeners. Now I present each presence is how me mind only appears to be. Dropping any pretence. all action is all falling sounds of concepts slipping and stilling judgements. Nope, no longer makes much of any sense. No pretense. No concept. No witness. No object, nor subject. No guff.

some sounds slipping still. . .

infinite trident of course tears tear without and rip within breath as remaining veils O' vasanas are all still shred to a pure light of an infinite funeral pyre of a body that is not.