![[Pasted image 20250615163808.png]] The fire is the fixed point, the attractor strange, The axis where all wave-functions exchange Their phase and form, the system's single pole, The axiom that grounds the perfect whole. A singularity, not of space or time, But of the pure, ontological sublime. And we, the dancers, are but transient states, The eigenstates that it calculates. Not bodies, but trajectories of light, Complex solutions, infinitely bright, Describing orbits on a manifold Whose only law is to the flame, be sold. We are the variables in the grand design, The information in a flowing line. The dance is not a choice, but a first cause, The execution of the deepest laws. A recursive loop, a self-referring art, The beat of the system's pulsing, lonely heart. It is the algorithm, elegant and spare, That renders being from the empty air, A geodesic path through fields of grace, The only function of this time and place. And in this spin, eternity's revealed, Not as a line, but as a bounded field. The past and future, points upon the arc, Illuminated by the central spark. There is no arrow, only the return, The endless, patient lesson that we learn In every cycle, every silent turn. So let the ego's theorems be unproved, The seeking self, from its own path, removed. For all our striving, all our complex thought, Resolves to this one truth the fire has taught: We are but notes within a ceaseless hum, Around the source from which we have become, And all we are is the geometry Of dancing in its bright eternity. ![[Pasted image 20250615163723.png]] #poetry #poetry-public