eyes closed and type-think-wandering

There’s no line graph or 90degree door in nature. No bar from this place or that besides the natureal ebb and flow of the scenery the flowers and the underbrush that flods in on itself. There are boundaries and rules and they are followed but not like laws mire like guidelines on how to servivie in this place called a jungle or a rainfoest of the plains or the ice fields. Only in humanity do we attempt to cross unnarural boundaries and refuse to listen when natures telling us something vastly different from desire for progress. Oh the limitations of doors to gardens and walking with a maker that we restict ourselves to boardrooms and plate mat vovers in the kitchen with little doily on them bit lock the door so no one else can steal them from us. Oh to hear thae soiund of the farden once again. To feel the presence of the lord walking or just being and sitting and peacefully glistening naked in the sun , bit that hiding from the man that duck behind the tree because you realice your free not to be naked anymore buit rather to createand segregate yourself from your natural habitat – the first door closed only to be opened again when no one but the son’s Father’s knows.