Repeatedly tracing the footsteps of the past, I shed my lingering desire for its pastiche. I am almost there to be “here now.” As I keep opening & closing the window, I slowly step into “Paradise.” Now I have no reason to count stars or even remember the names we gave them. I just try to learn to float in the air more without losing balance. Steps & cobble stones, windowpanes & doors, alleyways & courtyards, pan & vin, birds & cats, clouds & the sun, the moon & bare trees, a string quintet & acappella, a paperback & a dictionary, an eraser & a drawing, a yearning & a desire, Heaven & Paradise, martyrs & saints, a head & a toe, a ceiling & a floor, & again, windows & doors. Opening & closing, the sacred & the profane show their true identity of being the same. Night falls & I turn the light on without wondering or questioning anything on the meaning of matter & spirit.