« This "This" »

A stone on a beach I feel every pebble you walk on, Reality.  Through vibration.  How else!

No lungs to inhale.  No senses to guard my physical perimeter.  No mind to feed impressions to.  Just being, no matter  in what form.

I delete the space that births me.  I exhale the air that breathes me.  I am a reader-writer that recognizes no interest or capital.

Because nothing saves.  Not mind.  Not gold.  Not silver.  Not paper money that burns.

But consciousness remains.  At least in this life.  Which is always while you live.