before the first idea took its name,
before the kindling of the conscious flame,
there was the rock, the root, the falling rain,
the patient, pulsing, un-argued domain.

not a commodity to claim or hold,
not a mere story waiting to be told,
but the cold fact, the leaf, the claw, the sod,
the absolute, the undeniable fungi god.

all systems are but whispers in its breath,
all principles are tenants to its death.
to think we stand apart is the illusion;
the only true, the fundamental fusion.

this is not good. it is not bad. it is.
the ground of all that exists.
to violate this is not to choose a vice,
but to mistake the mirror for the ice.