I watch my self, but I am not I, for I watch you as well. I feel us within my Self as seeds in the palm of my hand.
A hand that encompasses all grabs nothing but air. Time and memory smear my edges until blessed dismay takes hold.
All I held passes through me, then I am held, then I am air and a holding hand. Beyond, above, around, within, between I and not-I rests the Home of All.