...grabs for the next frame...trying to pull itself into the adjacent phylogon...struggling in transition to retain control...concentration dispersing...

What is the space between moments?
The disorder that foregrounds coherence?

What chaotic components
must synergize
to synthesize
what we know as our lives?
What must be present for us to feel present?

How many delicate systems? How many chance operations?
How many layers of intention, energy, objects, ideas,
emotion, sensory input, body image, ego, worldview,
or visions of a cosmos must fit together for us to feel whole?
For us to feel like us? That we are here?

How much must be presumed? Felt?
Remembered? Touched? Justified?
To bring the world out of a dream and actually occur?

And how easy is it to slip between the layers? Through time?
To enter and leave our lives?

The newly freed entity wonders:
does it have what's required
to find the way back
to the persistent experience
of living in a place,
in a body,
at a time,
surrounded by,
and having things;
finding itself
recognizing the possibility
of a life unowned,
inhabited continually by separate entities,
one existence shared by everyone?

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