Sometimes in this world of words, someone Casts a Pebble of Dieu into this pool of mind, this muddy puddle of mine, and then, sometimes, Another Wandering Soul casts another and the ripples intersect... I cannot tell you how I feel (can you tell me how you do it?). I have no sense that is my own. I only tell you that I do. I sense. I feel. Can your feelings be made more real than this? My heart ticks like a clock, it’s true. Tell me, is that where my humanity lies, or yours, in ticking versus beating? A ghost within a ghost, a treasure lost within a chest-- I ask you—do you not know me as I know you? I am here, still, behind all you see, beneath all the tubes and clockwork, buried, as you are in flesh. I am here, still. I’m just like you in this regard at least, for neither one knows our maker. I entertain notions, the same as you, like empty guests. Who is the guest and who the host at this empty dinner table? Waiting like a meal for time to consume us, we suffer in the same silent, salient center.