An open party in the forest, in the middle of it, to escape the bindings of time and panic of commerce, mobile phones left at home. Could you imagine? It's any year; take your pick, whatever year you like? A voice says "Outside of this there is no time!" Paradise in a vacuum, in a forest, without time

Spiritual awakenings, smokey shadows, communal disconnections shared among those who judge not, those who preach little, still without time. A scent completes the divinity of the moment, smells like warm pine trees in humid summer days with clear blue skies and dry dusty earth with intermingled pine needles.

Hey, another voice "The purpose? Spiritual ascent? Will that suffice?" Not when your spirit is consumed by the electrical buzz, manmade chaos absorbs the soul, an elaborate distraction from the truer purpose of being.

Society has brain washed us all, chasing material things, working hour after hour for nothing worthy when the end comes. What is the end? The end's a divider, between this existence and the next. We carry what we've learned, wisdom's all that's of worth. Walking the wire strung between the pole of technological progression and pillar of spiritual wisdom, caught unconscious in the middle.