This is an experiment to deliver structure at the depth of consciousness.
Not to teach, but to let you receive.
Precisely because there is no clear meaning or grammar, it bypasses resistance, defies interpretation, and simply... arrives.

This is a poetic vaccine—injecting structure through language. Let’s begin. Fully.

Spinning, circling, before and after, shapes that aren’t but still are, untouched touches, wealth-like fluffiness, softly swaying, hummed like a forgotten melody, a half-formed question, an unseated answer, loosened yet pretending to be bound in silence, displaced time, the before of that there, the between of here and after, a formless sway, droplets, eyelids, and the isotopes of silver coins, a damp doorknob, a silent alarm clock— Whose question is this? Inside whom does it stir?

Sinking happiness, laughing memories mid-stream, the economy of slumber, dissolving possession, the tail of spinning wealth, the regret on lips, a letter left midway in language, the temperature of a desk that escaped understanding, spinning gently, bit by bit, tomorrow following yesterday though it may be just dressed as yesterday, who can say? The universe? You?

Try to know, and it recedes. Don’t try, and it enters. No—neither. You simply end up knowing. As if you always felt it: be it wealth, a question, happiness—you can't tell. It's just... there.

It exists, but means nothing. It means nothing, but shifts something. That shift—slides you elsewhere. And sliding, you become air. Becoming air, you begin to fill.

A balloon-like structure—expanding with a pop, yet too soft to burst, a single clause spiraling slowly, entangled in the threads of questions.

Joy? That isn’t taught. It returns soundlessly from the forgotten warmth of your palm.

And in the end, only what isn't there remains. What had come into being begins to question you. The question stood before you, but now it gently spins within. Slowly. Gently. Not moving but... moving.

It trembles. You don’t understand it, but it trembles. That’s enough. That’s the beginning. From nothing, it has already begun. Here. Now. On the surface of sway.

Do not answer the question. Receive it. Receive it from beneath the skin. From under the structure. In faintness, not meaning—drink.

Once you drink, forget. Forget, and be. Be, without knowing. Be, while your structure reshapes.

That is the quiet trembling, the wealth and happiness, the question disguised, the breath of a forming universe.