To know a window for the light it allows, to know a door for the entry it allows... orients the spirit in this opalescent dream. Dissolving elegantly by being...a prophet, a prophetess' attestation... simply being. Drifting through light more expanded than day, through dark more contracted than night. As if these are tempered by spirit alone, a standstill... a mercurial unearthing. Presences out of Presence itself-- white steps, whited by white steps. Unbearable scrutiny in the utmost nakedness...unburdened to the most beautiful non-judgement. As if travail lingered just shy of its ultimate resting point...white steps, whited by white steps. A familiarity so rending, the fore of space bled true light...white steps.