How old is the sky above me? How old am I below the sky? Am I only as old as my memories? If my memories are as old as the ground below my feet, does it make me as old as the land that I stand on?
If I add the questions that I ask every day and put them in a corner of my room, I will be the one - rich with words that the questions are made of. I will be rich. I will reach out for them. I will reach. R-E-A-C-H.
And in reaching for richness the bells will sing. The sky will sing. The blue will sing old blue song. When you lift the eyes to see the sky - think of it - we are looking at the same sky right now. That's what binds of together.
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