Even that which goes, even that which is absent seen clearly, as clarity exists ever present, there can be no reality to the confusion, the sense that what comes and goes, there can be no form to that which is absent, for we have the power and this power can not be owned yet is held somehow, inexplicably without pressure, the sensations of pressure and letting go reduce to physical impulses, that by which our loss of the idea is the only true loss somehow can mirror in the stream of time a finality to its disappearance and correctness to it having gone.