Grief speaks quietly. hear it
for the beauty that’s in it.

if we could see each
neuron as a mother cell,
the sheath
communicating, reverberating with
the music of
the spheres –
the colourshape of an orchid, her lips singing networks
over her columns and into other networks, leaving
stigmata behind. and only the composer can call and
harness this excitability into a concerto of sheer
beauty, knowing the
of the deliveries of incipiens mediam
finem. a lesson in the delicate strands – intimations – of

Then and only then, when we understand
the lessons of orchids and neurons, will we see and be
healed. and everything –
everything –
will look as it never has
the beauty essential to symphonies of
everything, where
orchid is brain and
neurons are pathways –

this is immaculate conception


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