On the path of all spheres,on steep cliffs overgrown with segments of color,marked with the chalk that childrenbroke, we watch the piecesrising,compact as if under the pressure of water,their slow takeoff: markings,white curtains raised.There are no problems with breathing,right here, in this circle,there are no problems with breathingand also ahead, in front, it seemsas if equilibrium is built in, unbreakable;cavities constantly expand,expand and narrow,as the activity of an unknown (imaginable)respiratory system enlarges under a microscope.Nostalgia, night, melancholy, laughterfalling like snow are invalid,all parallel, all there, which can bereached from here, the entire “path” in between.We watch the reactions to this situation,slowly, gradually, the outer leaves of an artichokeslowly float away.We can imprint any memories of the concepts.There was a line.It was there exactly because we couldn’tuse it.Whatever the concept, they’re all arrangedconcentrically, near, far.The spot, which was an elevator, a beam,is protected in advance by inviolability.Initiation is unbelievably slow work,most similar to the rotation of summer, winter, and the stars.Is this how we ate?Did we constantly prepare food?Now it’s enough that a small crack in the process remainsand everything regenerates unbelievably fast.Whoever keeps a diary of growth and sacrifice,look!Maybe many can read itbecause light falls around,but of course nothing falls here, it goes outward.The center, the source of energy that we observe in thisprocess, is empty. The universe “vanishes” the locus, eats it.Energy, not consciousness, leaps, (is) in the negative.So it’s all in something, which, becauseof the concept, can be roughly called a grain of sandand the entire space is only a vestige,like sawdust from sawing wood.In one cubic micromillimeterthere are infinite galaxies, and each with this hugespace, with nights, moons, suns, with constellationsthat baffle us and press our membrane.Intergalactic, and, of course, these“injected” communications are also just pressure.Beside this window, in this windowthere are still countless other civilizations,countless other cosmological systems.So it’s not about suffering,but about layers.I’m showing this here.