The perfect ring of smoke is a perfect circle. Thru the smoky rings thru smoke, a great round wonder rolling thru space can be perceived. You cannot blow a dragon or a sailboat, but a perfect circle can be blown & can hang in space until it dissolves. The perfect circle hates a honeycomb, but a hungry circle finds all bitter things to be sweet.
In one sense the smoke ring is a creation
of the room, so consider.
In another sense the smoke ring is a
creation of our eyes, so
How much control does our mouth have?
Awaken in the fumes of the smoke.
Let there be smoke in the middle airs, & let it divide the airs from the airs. The rings of smoke are subject to the whims of the tides of airs. The perfect ring of smoke is as much a whim of the tides of the airs as the hungry ring of smoke. If you do not try to blow the perfect circle, the tides of the airs will dash the smoke into nonsense. When you blow the perfect circle, it will hang in the air & then disappear into nothing. The tides of the airs helped as much to create the perfect circle as they conspired to blow it into nonsense. An imperfect circle in the air is better than a perfect circle inside your mouth.
Jesus said, A perfect circle has been blown outside of the Father, but being unsound, it was dashed into nonsense.
The smoke & the air are one, so consider.
The smoke cuts into the air & disappears
into the air, so reflect & awaken.
The smoke & the air are different colors
at first & invisible at last.
Does the smoke blow the air or does the
air blow the smoke? Discuss & fade
away, child of the smoke.
You see plenteous airs & you are short of breath. You can breathe deeply, but your excretions are lopsided & unsound. You exhale divine perfumes but the middle airs dash them into nothingness. Breathe slower, make your breathing perfect, & your breathing will beget more breathing.
Once the shisha made me rise up & gave me the strength of ten thousand men. Tonight it has deprived me of my life force. My arms stretch from the eastern sea to the western sea. My roots soar with the eagle & my brain is in Mexico. The bards of the plains are corroborating with my flesh.
When the wicked rules,
my rings are hungry.
When the righteous are in authority,
I arise from the shisha with strength.
Who will save me from this prison? Who will lower a ladder for me into this pit? For the shisha has deprived me of my life force, & I am lain upon the ground. The shisha has taken away my deepest breaths, & the voices of the people are shallow. O child of the smoke, perceive the corpse borne slowly from the house. The air is completely changed to smog & the streets are the color of bitumen! Where once I did rejoice, now I cannot detect my rings of smoke in this hoary chaos. I sit upon the ground & weep until the floor is wet.
Redemption does not occur at the end of time, unless the end of time is understood to mean every moment. Redemption is eternal & the end is eternal. Because of this, every bar & chain, every fetter & gray wall of the prison is shaken & falters. The stars are falling. There is a great quaking of the earth, & either the sky is brought nearer to my eyes or my eyes are brought nearer to the sky. The veins of my body are all the rivers of the earth, & alas! they flow no more. My feet are not connected to my ankles, my hands are not connected to my wrists. Each particle of my flesh disseminates, & I from here consider the immortality of the universe. The months & days of years have undergone a great many pains. Tuesday returns, Wednesday returns. My soul is loosened, the seal is broken. I am cold. For the wicked is in authority, & the shisha has deprived me of my life force.
When I inhale, I gather together my elect from the four winds. There is no logic to the shisha. It is like the mustard seed, & the mustard seed is like the kingdom of God.