I’m back again. 

I’m doing another round, as one does, and this time I’m what humans like to call a dendrite, which means I’ve got tree-like branches, I’ve got six corners, and I’m really very pretty. Supercooled up in almost-space just a few minutes ago, now I’m levitating gracefully downwards, towards their Earth. And when I say gracefully, I mean gracefully. You should see it, but then again if you’re anything like a human creature, you’d probably explain that you don’t have the time to see things like that. 

I have time. I have eternity. And so I see things, oodles of things. Even from above, just as I begin my long and lovely descent, I can see that – while I’m new every time– they’re the same. They’re the same, each round anew. It’s been tens of thousands of years, and they’ve built things - massive things. They think they’ve grown smart, is what they think. But every fool can see from up above: they are the same.

Now I’m what’s called a thin plate snowflake. I’m just a partly formed dendrite, and I’m a bit un-elegant. I’ll be something quite magical again next time, but this time around I’m, well, flat. But still, I do move gracefully. It’s what we do. We accept what we are, and we move through it, gracefully.

Even as I begin my fall – which really isn’t a fall, but the painting of a quiet little poem in whirls and dances – even as I begin my fall, and the endless fields of their lights come into view, their cities, their vast and powerfully shaped and manicured landscapes, I can tell: they’re not different. There’s just more of them. 

Every time I float by some window, they’re still trying so hard. They’re still so afraid. They still love each other, and then lose each other. They still fuck things up, like, constantly. They still despair – over the fact that they’re so afraid. Over the fact that they still love each other, then lose each other. They despair that they fuck things up, constantly. And they still won’t let go. They should just let go. Let go of all their fears. Let go of all their expectations. Let go of all their egos. Let go, let go.

This is what they don’t know. Nothing is as big and important as they make things out to be. Nothing is as small and insignificant as they make things out to be. They don’t know this, still haven’t understood this. They’re not separate, they’re not different. They, too, are part of this. We are whole.

Everything is free fall. Everything is infinite and cyclical. And so every fall already carries within itself a rising. 

Now I’m a sector plate. Now I’m star-shaped. Now, I melt. I seep into the dense, moist ground, I am not a snowflake.

I am water.