As if by someone's oversight, space opens behind the partner. And lovers, if their partner didn't block the view, could then draw near and be astonished.
Or someone dying is it, and, near death, does not see death but stares beyond it, his gaze perhaps large as the mammals'. As children we lose ourselves to this in silence, until abruptly shaken. It's always the real world, never a Nowhere void of negation, a pure Unsurveillance that can be inhaled, forever known and thus not craved. Yet we don't, not even for a single day, have pure space before us, a place where flowers forever bloom. That, only we see the unhindered animal keeps its decline and sunset ever behind it, with God before and, if it walks, goes forward in timelessness, like springs that well and flow. What does exist outside we come to know from their faces alone in fact, we make even young children turn and take a backward look at fixed concepts, not at the openness deep in those mammal features. Only our seeing is retrospective, set like traps around them, an obstacle that blocks the path to freedom. With all of their eyes, animals behold openness.
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