To transform a grimace into a sound
Sounds impossible, yet it is possible
To transform a vision into music,
To go outside an enslaved personality,
To become impersonal by transforming
Into sand, into water, into light,
To feel the air and breathe the air
By becoming the air, become
A bird, the first cell, the first man,
Become a wandering comet,
A dying star, a newborn cluster of stars
And hear the melody of galaxies
Love making of black stars,
Sense the hellish or heavenly nature of quasars,
Be in everything and come back
To a miniscule particle of personality
To find out how great all is.
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