It is an unknown place, but not a place that can’t be known.
You’re thoroughly immersed in a jazz tune when someone accidentally pulls the plug . . .
Your lips are on the way to a kiss when a strange sound is heard . . .
Two miles from a destination and you encounter a detour.
There’s an idea that should be secluded in its final resting place but like a voracious mosquito it won’t let you alone. In those strange moments of discontinuance it is sure to bite you, and itch – but not the scratch-able kind of itch. No, this irritation takes place on some rarely noticed field somewhere between your mind and your heart.
It’s an area with no address. Like a dream – seeking it causes it to disappear. It remains unknown, trammeled in its own origin until the correct combination of insights is understood, and used, to permit its release and discovery.
Then, and only then, in the quietest venue, the most faint whisper ‘may’ be encountered. Perhaps not even heard, but it’s presence ‘felt’. This field, a matrix of pure intrigue, welcomes no human input. The more a person just allows it to flow, the more flow there is. Helping, hinders.
The ‘Magic’ involved therein is only sensed. No words, no epiphanies that a normal person would experience. Just a supreme Magic – originating from Nothingness; hints of imagination, tastes of originality, wisps of grandeur.
It can be ‘known’ – but not claimed. Recognized – but not identified. Desired – but never achieved.
The Infinite 