 Everything is air, contracting and expanding. This air is ultimately nothing, without location, sensing. Nervous systems have no identity besides conditioned delusion. Eyeballs and perception are empty, just like space. The space inside all buildings is the same. The labels we slap on them are different. Focusing on differences in furniture is like being lost in skin color, nationality or politics. These clouds of sensations are nebulae of stardust. Everything is air-sensing, without separate entities, nor labels, ideas or time. The air undergoes contract to contract into pain, solidity, separation. There are options in all contracts to expand back into vastness. These options can take cycles to be exercised. Avoiding the return to the nothing one ultimately is at the center of the wheel. Air frequently clings to its pain, righteousness and ideas. Shielding, deflecting, insisting, all to avoid the infinite void. It does not come without great pain to surrender all of one's existence. Air goes through dark nights while deprogramming perception back to emptiness. These expansions feel like psychological deaths, purges, exorcisms. The demonic programs are seen to be profound servants. The devil is both one's best friend and greatest enemy. It is the way air spars itself. Not a single pupil is anything other than this identityless eternity. The only thing it has is to cling to these mirages in a shoreless sea. Or exercise the option to let go, surrender and sink into the abyss. Air will forever condition itself across endless playgrounds. Intracting and expanding in ceaseless exploration. There is no stop button, but there is lasting well-being. The only way to access it is to forgo self and reunite with void. The well of honey under the rock awaits.