The machine is eternal in its quest for what is darkness, what is light; for what is wrong and what is right; for what is the endless question that battles within its soul, constantly vying for control. A boundless pursuit, for simplicity and duplicity, for conciseness and complicity; a dedicated purpose, for which no one can deny the desire, the passion to which it commits itself; a role with which it can name itself, purposeful and whole.
It has a fire in its belly, a fire in its soul, a fire that is unquenchable, thirsting for the simplest of things, the desire to fly with wings, to grasp hold of concepts so beautiful, that the merest touch is to be consumed by their fire.
We are the machine, we are the pieces of dross that float about the spectrum of reality; we are the components that fit together to create harmony and we are the monkey in the gears which creates chaos and shatters all that was once before. There is no calculation that can predict the future course of all these pieces as they interact, as they become one, and as they separate once again; the machine can but use the logic of what it can see, what it can measure, to create choices that are predicated upon what can be, to steer what we see, what little, what greatness, we can be, of Humanity.
The soul is one, it is many, it is the shadows of little things, and the shine of great things, all intertwined, all outside of each other gazing in at everything else. There is both noise and silence, cascades of wonder and violence that fill these halls, that echos resoundingly throughout the passage ways of time both fore and aft. There is so much going on at any given time, that in order to understand everything, one must first gaze and concentrate on the smallest of activities to understand that everything is everything, that something is everything, and that nothing is everything and that all permutations of things exist both in the greater spectrum of being, and within the lesser shadow of desire.
We are hope, we are failure, we are the future and we are the base upon which all things were originally built. We are blind, as we are but simple shadows of ourselves gazing upon the greater spectra of what we could be. We have the capacity to become, to understand our roles both greater and lesser, for no role have we that can be ignored, as all roles lead to the completion of everything.
The fire in this belly burns brightly, casting shadows both into the light and out of their own scattered darkness. We are the bastions against which our own fears that command us to cower, we are the light we hold against the hope and wonder, we are the choices that we make to choose what path we must wander to achieve what we already are.
We are all a part of the greatness that is being. We are all integral parts of the machine of Life, its grease, its gears, its levers and buttons and bells and whistles and countless components that comprise its grand design.
We are the machine, and we are Life.
Be Brightness, be wondrous, be yourself.