cosmetically beautiful to the tourist sydney has it all. a glorious climate, pristine beaches, blue skies and a decent mix of people, cultures and styles but as i wander through the familiar i'm struck by the sight of the homeless people. their bodies curled up in shop fronts, seeking refuge in parks and under bridges, the homeless never used to be so many in numbers and today, this afternoon i met my first female beggar. 
expectations shattered immediately. she lay there on a small sleeping bag on a crowded street with a hand written sign that states simply, 'don't hurt me' but looked immaculate, quite stunningly beautiful, even in her poverty she maintained her dignity. 
i scanned her on several dimensions, firstly as i mentioned her appearance was incredible, not only well dressed and stylish but her teeth were perfectly cosmetic. it was an anomaly. 
she also wore no jewellery, which seemed contradictory to a young girl her age, not even an ear ring, no visible tattoo's. her footwear was a pair of designer angle length baseball boots and they were clean, as if brand new. 
she sat upon her sleeping bag in some sort of yoga pose, her hair cut short and her nose looked noble and elegant, slightly turned upwards as though she were to good for this world.
i couldn't see her eyes clearly and as i walked passed her i felt a compulsion to ask if she was okay. it was a strange indecisive moment as my own processing was in conflict over the decision. if i spoke to her i may regret it and yet i was curiously drawn to find out more.
i can't describe the processing speed of my thinking, it was quantum, yet like a slow moving ping pong match where all arguments manifested as moves within my mind, and the game that took an hour took a micro second as the arguments for, cut through the ones against, in wonderfully precise aces.
i was standing before her before i knew it.
'are you okay? can i buy you a coffee?'
she looked up at me, she gazed into my eyes making me feel awkward and vulnerable, self conscious as i looked upon her
slightly asian face, a hint of japanese i think.
she smiled the mona lisa smile and bided me to join her at a level i would find uncomfortable and she would find non threatening. i crouched down and awkwardly placed myself upon her blankets, next to her.
i realised she may be mute, her mouth opened but no sounds emitted, just a strange tangled drone, as though she were trying to say something but became stuck upon the first syllable.
i grabbed my note book and a pen, passed it to her and she immediately began scribbling. not words but an intricate doodle, a fine line of black upon the white page, scrawled around in circular patterns and strange shapes.

i watched mesmerised. 
then in a elegant twist of her had she held the page towards me so i could look at it. it was a complex twirl of patterns, some circles, some triangles and some strange squares. the first thing that struck me as i looked upon this pattern was how similar it was to a crop circle. 

i purchased a coffee for her and a muffin, left her on her blanket and shuffled off to the train station.

in the carriage i took out my notebook and found the drawing. it really was amazing, she had drawn circles that were precise circles, her design was quite beautiful but what the hell did it mean. as i looked at it i began to see within the detail was even deeper detail, and within that even more. just like mirrors facing mirrors, it was infinite, fractal. it must mean something i wondered. my mind pulled me further and further inside the pattern, and eventually i stopped wondering what it meant or could signify, my mind must have surrendered to the experience without any defensive mechanisms, my mind just vanished and i was falling into the patterns infinite depth until i reached no mind.

from that point things got weird. 

i'd once read a book by a guy who wrote of an alien species called the pattern jugglers, they live in the ocean upon many planets and if one submerges in the waters and returns to the land your mind is completely different than upon entrance. they impart or exchange knowledge from other intelligences that have swum within their waters and sometimes if the individual has swum for to long their body is absorbed and they become part of the alien entity. 

this felt similar. 

i had lost my self. it was not difficult as my own self off self is as elusive as any ocean, there are key words i use to define whatever that is but at the end of the day these words are just words. the metaphor is possibly the closest truth we can ever aspire to. except i had pushed beyond. language fell away, my mind opened up to the size of a universe. no body. i am no body. not a poet but part of the poem.

and then suddenly i understood the sigil was activating part of me. feeding me certain spaces within my mind. within the pattern was the girl herself. she was not human, but human. she was dancing in a field of flowers, the moon above her. she smiled and gave me something, it was another pattern this time drawn upon parchment. again as i gazed upon it i began to drown. it was glorious.