i remember once just being soooo happy. and writing about it traps it. when i lived it, it wasn't measurable, it wasn't a memory waiting to happen. these things just happen. and the way i remember it is in the way that the chills run up my spine and into my shoulders (usually my right). as i shrug them forward they fly away, forward, jumping ahead of me so they can meet me again if i just stepped forward. but sometimes i just look at them from where i stand; if i get too close, i lose sight of them like a monet, and i'm left with colors and motion and chills. a blank slate. things on top which appear to be something.   the magic that happens MUST take place between here and there. because when we are one, it is static. i became to experience. i experience to enjoy. i enjoy i become more.