I awaken in the middle of the night to the sound of the worm. The darkness is a void that has swallowed the world, and when I swallow, I swallow the void. I am a hollow tube, running from my mouth down to my anus. Could this be the worm William Blake spoke of? I realise that my body is no more than a self perpetuating eddy, an electrical wind in the void. Somehow, my realisation disrupts this wind, and there can be no distinction made between the outside and the inside. In that instant, the monotonous chattering of my ego ceases, it takes flight like a crow and evaporates. Now, there is 'nothing' left save for that part of me which still exists to observe the nothing. The part which says, "I don't exist." and by saying it contradicts itself. From out of the silence of the void a new sound takes precedent. Silently, at first, it grows louder until I see the snake falling end over end like a Jiddish Ladder. It is the inch worm, inching its way through the void of spaceless time and timeless space. The inchworm or geometrid (from Latin meaning earth measurer) only in this case it seems to be measuring moments in time (the chrometrid) rather than distances in space. Its purpose is to measure out the surface of the three sphere until it arrives at the Great Tree of the North Pole (the Christmas Tree), where it will build its chrysalid; a gloomy cocoon, which serves as its tomb. Until the day arrives that it transforms, it breaks free and lets fly, the psychedelic butterfly.