From the remote corners of the void that cannot be felt, there comes something devoid of any matter or equivalence, that does not exist and yet that matters everything. Words barely touch the surface of the confounding depth, so deep that the conscious reboots itself when touched by the grace. What can you know, or why do you want to know? To know is an exercise in futility.
Life is now and now is life.
The illusion or reality is the practicality of survival. The real is subterfuge, Maya is the Queen. Waiting every second to mesmerize the puppet and to play him the way she wants. For he is a fool and forever will be, lusting for the immediate gratification.
Be without, for if you can. Castle without king or Queen, built out of nothing.