The answer to every thing is hidden in the downy softness of a cat’s belly. Inhale, then exhale. Repeat daily for enlightenment. Do this until the musky scent of warm milk and sunlight is imprinted into your consciousness. Astronomical sidenote: the galactic center is not a wormhole, neither is it where dreams go to die. It is where they are born. Now make like the fucking wind.
* * * * * * *
Today: the color saffron threads, an unweildly chunk of snowflake obsidian, music in the key of D, the balsamic scent of liquid myrrh, and the soft griefing of tears-of-a-clown bougainvillea.