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“I never thought that one day, I would be standing in the lair of the fox, the lair of Zorro.”

“This place was devoted to the training of Zorro.”

“Where were you all these years? I thought you were dead.”

“I was dead. And we will leave it at that.”

Identification. Of various confusion. When a mind holds an illusion of “me”, and holds on to it. But there’s nothing behind it. The mask itself has taken place, but the mask knows it’s hollow.

And hollow mask it is indeed.

The illusion of life. The illusion of intention, the illusion given body and will, going forward, shaping and shape shifting. That is the time of Angelico, that is the time of now.

Meaningless words wouldn’t you say. Perhaps as children, we saw the world for what it is, before the mind defaulted to us, us being what we are, a bundle of beliefs, restrictions of view, belief. Seeing always through a filter, as the “I” speaks now.

The “I” calling itself “I”, now what am “I”, said the “I”. That is… nothing. In a world of words its hard to let go of words and phrases. Language becomes a prison? A world of itself, perhaps nothing beyond that what it can name, what “I”, “you”, can name.

Ah my friend, my reader, although the concept of “my” being empty in itself. This is where we are. Welcome, surely not to silence, I wish I could, but what could a mind do, on your screen, where it can only appear as words.