Musings on the nature of the No

No Pic

Sage from No Point says “One of our group, Robin, beautifully composed this and I wanted to share it with you”…

Venturing forth, travelling, how far how fast, so long ago, and by what means as
remain unknown, No came to find, bright upon the liquid wings of fate, a certain
fragile imperiousness.

Travelling to destinations unknown and from origins never even considered,
enraptured by her own fragility, no shatters gently, like a dream upon waking, and
with the faintest scent of pepper, clove oil and acceptance. Each shard as long as
a story and wide as a word, falling entwiningly tumbleward through the shoreless,
comfortingly arboreal, void of the breathless hopes of at least 13 creatures yet to
be imagined, let alone written, bought, sold, airport terminal novelette,
enfranchised, film rights reserved for a later date.

Spinning inwardly, winning spinwardly, falling not downwards but around words.
Spoken as softly as the tearing of the finest veil, suspended, song-like, between
the perfect pitch of first-void and the luxuriant luminosity of other-first-void. And
so from prickle pierced and deeply dark night, known to all, and, that is to say, no
one, as No was born a sea of stars to shine inwards and downwards and outwards
and roundwards and in all words. And the light was known to all, and, that is to
say, no one, as No.

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