This is the world. This is the experience. There is a mix of expression. Wanted and Unwanted, loved and hated, joyed and pained. I have seen the push of separation everywhere and also seen the very thing that unifies us all. I have seen the fear in dying and also the courage of living. I have seen religion as hope and as despair. I have heard countless stories of being, believing, becoming. I have heard the sides of the scale and to which they weigh. And I tell you that although these thoughts, these words, are in me, they are not me. This arrangement of decisions from decisions lead to only more deciding. To live in that experience, shackled by the programs definition, is not me. In that I am just a puppet as much as the next. And to break free of that code, what does it mean? Are we then just actors of another play within the story? To what distance does this mirage of reality take me? For, to be here in such an arrangement with the power to perceive this display, it must also be from the same hands. Is this our story, trapped by the confines of the pages within the book it is written? And even if we leap from the pages, what art thou but more images of conception. Glorified by sin. Realized through mistakes, lessons, trials. What comes of the author that writes the fall and rise, to what bounds are we chained? Where in this is the gift of boundlessness? A blind eye not seeith the paradox upon us. is it no choice then but to bow down and respect the cage of the bird, the code of its life, the arrangement of its rules? And is it within such that we see each are different, yet in the same exact place? This winding corridor of passages. What have you done to me? Is there even an I? To move about in the ball of chatter or to move the ball itself, it is all a direction of sensory entertainment with a hidden ‘why.’ Do we choose what we ride in our field of emotions or is choice an illusion manifested for comfort? And to give up, allowing a full flow direction of trust, the director reveals that it has always directed. Wanting lives that suffer to build strong worship, lives that live in bliss to praise, torn lives that hate upon the word to take its power, an all exchange of recycled energy within the same bubble, bouncing from another to another in a go here-go there directive. Such a thought could only exist in and of what? To what end does it seek? To what alteration is it willing? Is this in its rest, a dream, an excuse. Seen. Now, besides what is, what else you got? This world of mental polarities of tribal belief seeks 1 truth. Direct an answer that is not through your standard sources, they are just a succession of compromised confusion. To each cannot lead a solid response without riddle, detects they are played and lost in sensation. To whose hand, to whose hand?