Otto

Let’s take a room, white walls, red borders, and one door

I see him walk into the room, carrying a sword

He does not notice me, nor will he

I sit on the table, in the kitchen, in a basket,

Amongst me are other arrangements, placed

He goes to the door, looks outside, and lets the sun shine in his eyes

Blinding at first, but how do I know? How can I see the sun? I don’t have eyes.

My color is that of the sun

My spirit is that of the sun

He bends down next to the door, cleaning the window sills, wiping off crumbs of food

I bear his pain…How can I, you say? Because I feel his spirit ache for rest

He sees a window sill, flat, shaped like a 2 by 4

And yet he doesn’t see it. He has trained his eyes to drift instantaneously to particles

Particles, spots of dust

Focusing

Boom

The battle

Fought against entropy, died against entropy

The 2^nd law of thermodynamics…as if Archangel Michael were fighting Satan himself

Poor soul, to see the cup half full is what he needs

To feed no more this OCD

To be content at that moment, thereby logically proving he can be content at every other moment in front of him, which when combined together, making each moment a dot and connecting them, being present is achieved. He has reached what he so desperately needed

“Pause”

That didn’t come out right, but it came out. I saw it, therefore, he saw it

Industry and magic, combined at last