Life held so far away from feeling, so far away from meaning crumbles like a book burned at the touch. We disinigrate when moved. Foundations built so towering high aren't able to be knocked down. They've never materialized to really exsist in the first place. We've tried to save and restore things in hope of making good. We can't make good. Good can be found. It can make us but we can't make ourselves with it. We choose from a variety not worth it. Open eyes are needed for choosing right, but where do we find how to open our eyes. The answer is encased and burried so deep at the bottom of an ocean of hope. We've never truly seen it. Everyone is diving in to the wrong ocean. Really we just ran so far away we can't even see its outline in the distance. Beginning to see starts with closing your eyes and heart to the surface of meaning and feeling that hope for what's unclear. Focus on stillness and we shake the clinging. All this time we've still been moving only by hope and love for us. The love can find us in the midst of us being surrounded by hope. It may not be known, but its been there pulling us through the wreckage, to yet lift us when we reach for it. For having our only real existence. It's written between the lines, it is the lines,the words and the paper. We can't see life when we're just looking at ourselves, but we see ourselves inside other creation. Better than gazing on on what we can find of ourselves, we behold worth in others. The love, and purpose we are searching for is found outside of just us.