Glittering insanity, 
how many 
there are of me!

We don't count.
Our numbers do not matter.

Let us press the point --
we are not one
we are dispersed.

We wonder about the one
We know we are the many
An army of monads
none of which is self-aware.

But somehow
out of this cacaphony
out of the corners 
of our minds eyes

there is the light.

Is it illusion?
Illusion implies a viewer.
The stage magician
always has an audience.

Is it the sum of many 
dim dim lights?
That sum to make a sun?

It doesn't seem that way.
Rather, a dispersion
of lights of equal brightness.

Like a furnace so hot 
the air itself glows
as bright as the glowing coals

The mind is awash 
in a sea of light --
many parts are bright

92-07-31