suddenly it makes sense again. in no haze of mindfulness, staring down at this snow-covered quilt of america, i am the stars exploding. voice shot down to hell, half sick, half recovered, alive and well and ready. the unknown for now will remain as such and in this moment that feeling is not one of suspension. it is the hopeful unknown. reaching into the future could only be good now as the past is wrapping itself in ribbons and pleasant packing paper, rarely to be revisited.