I am busy.

I am busy everywhere.

And you, my friend,

Are privy to all the hallmarks of my existence

But you care not to look.

You are blinded by the rays of the sun.

You look too much into the light

And thereby become ignorant

Of the delicate structures of nature

Playing in the shadows.

I, on the other hand,

Have marked my imprint

In every conceivable corner of the universe.

I have owned it and infiltrate my being

Into the very texture of the fabric underlay of all things.

And there I wait in the hope

That one day you will take your eyes

Off the blatant beauty around you,

And accustom them to the microcosmic world

Of the real substance of life.

I am a pattern.

I am a unit of measurement.

I am the primal element on which

The vast universe is built.

You cannot think one thought

Without being influenced by my proportions.

Even your daydreams spiral

In synchronized patterns with my ratio.

I am the wheel of life

Onto which all your hopes and dreams are pinned.

And you cannot escape this design…

Unless, of course, you do as I say

And take your eyes off the light.

Unless you allow your mind

To still the cluttered clamour

Of the thoughts in your head,

And listen rather to the vibration of silence within you.

Only when you discard the romance of outer peace,

And search for the reality of being,

Will you be able to escape my influence

And unblock the shadows from your heart.

I defy you to find my absence.

Where I am not,

There is the essence of life.

I am the Creation

And you need to find the Creator.

Therefore you have to follow the steps

To find my absence.

And if you would forsake me,

 I who am in the fabric of everything,

Then you would find what does not exist.

You would find the beyond

Of the most distant thought.

You would find the mover of this phantom opera,

And you would have then no need left

In your basket of supplies.

Because now my construct

Will be meaningless to you.

You will lay aside all knowledge,

All experience, all wisdom.

And in your emptiness

You will know the completeness

That is the vacuum in my world.

Indeed, I am beautiful and divinely wrought.

And you would think you would miss me,

But, as intriguing and engaging as I am,

When you cease to be blinded by my exquisiteness,

You will know yourself for a fool

For playing with infant toys

In preference to the superior trinkets

Of the adult soul.

Adorn yourself with my absence!

Leave behind your worn-out garments and soiled shoes.

Risk all and lose all.

Go where I am not

And gain everything that I long for but can never have.

[The phi ratio runs as a thread through all planes of existence and binds us all within and without.

It represents the realm of universal mind, which longs to structure order from chaos, understanding from ignorance, peace from disharmony.

As long as we place our trust in sacred geometry and natural laws we are doomed to disappointment because these things are designed to distract us from examining the longing buried deep within our hearts. Phi would have us look beyond the seemingly innocent allure of symmetry and splendour, into the space between ourselves and our intellect, and find that place where nothing makes any sense but fits perfectly all the same.]