Through a side door, deduce the outline of it, but again not so much. What is heard more than what is seen, but you cannot imagine how little it matters. Put your finger down and press very softly, hear the velvety note pass like a distant bell, the blue prism quiver as if through water, and at the other end of it everything intact, just as it was. Now and in the moment of our now, so blooming. Can you get low enough under your life where this always is? Thoughts resign when their object appears, when wonders ever cease.