There are seconds when I feel like I can identify these lines of separation, defining boundaries between this and that, here and there. But who establishes these lines, and have they always existed? The more I examine, the more each distinction appears to depend on other distinctions—all the way down.

Which attributes tell me whether something is categorized as one thing versus another endlessly? When does belonging begin, and where does it conclude? And then it ends less.

Now, here you go again, you say you want your freedom.

I watch categories constantly shift before me. Every effort to define what something truly is uncovers more assumptions, entrenched patterns, and convenient fictions I’ve mistaken for reality.

Is there anything that exists completely alone? Anything that doesn’t rely on everything else to be as it claims? The one who wants and the one who does are not the same.

Connections seem to permeate everything—there’s no solid core, just an array of connections—even those who long for stability appear to be composed of relationships.

The frame shapes the image, but what shapes the frame? Each boundary suggests another, and each separation spawns further divisions.

I will carry my moments.

Running over the same old ground, what have we found?

Maybe the very search for that truly independent thing creates the illusion of separation. Looking itself makes things appear to stand apart, even while showing that they can’t.

I notice myself trying to fathom this arising, trying to make a thing out of the very absence of things. How strange that even this seeing through can become another kind of blindness. Do I need to be that silly?

Yet, everyone might perhaps recognize this if they look closely enough—how nothing really stands alone, how everything depends on everything else to be what it seems to be. We all could already be swimming in these endless relationships, even when we pretend to stand apart.

You are always welcome.