“It follows then, that »all of those domains, dimensions, moments, minds, beings, pasts and futures… that humans pretentiously invent fake universes ‘before and after death’ about, are actually precisely here. Now. In every form, moment, relationship, being and ecology. In the structure and nature of the sky, light, timespace… and most centrally… »relation. There is no distant heaven or terrifying hell. But there is the Earth. And, nearby »the Sun. Not that we have the slightest idea ‘what’ these are, or even their natures. As again, with birth, death, light, time… and ‘gaps’.

Nonetheless, the fact is simple, and instantly accessible. Your body, mind, world and situation »are the entirety of time and all of the possibilities of being. They are ‘dimensionalized’ in ways that are accessible to the animal you are, the human person you are… but »not to the constructs of language or culture as you have known them, regardless of how you have come to know them.

The import of this is more staggering than any possible produce of science, language, art and ‘metaphysics’, and, indeed, is »antimetaphysical. Fundamentally. There is no ‘illusion’. No ‘extra spooky places’. The real is catastrophically deeper than these absurd toys.

Reality is the vast and explosive ‘surpassing as being’ that obliterates these ridiculous ideas without even making a noise. The present and our capacities within it… have only the most peculiar of temporal and spatial boundaries, and their nature and structure is nothing like we suppose. Neither is it true that ‘all is one’ or ‘a person is everything’. At the same time, the nature of being and identity has features that might, to the naive, »resemble these ideas… while at the same time obliterating them by exstasis.

The heaven and hell, the unborn and the dead… the living essences of life on Earth and all other places… all pasts and all futures… are in the leaf. The mind and eyes that relate in living bodies and as the environments in which they emerge into expression. Who then, can read the living books whose nature obliterates time, and reforges separation into cascading waves of self-exceeding presence?

Who then, can even recognize… let alone read… or »write within… the »living libraries?”

— that is not a tree.