What if it is not just energy that is conserved, but awareness?
Form can matter to form or sometimes not. And sometimes there is simply nothing that form can do about it anyway.
Yet form in awareness can seem so pervasive, except for some dim notion there is something more. Which can be yet another form however dimly known.
Is it pain that anchors form more than beauty freeing it?
What kind of awareness is it that decides? Is awareness of pain an obfuscating addiction?
And what is beauty? Punctuation in a sentence about longing? Laughter in the theater of anguish?
Or is beauty also conserved and the island of our despair arises when we forget beauty?
Perhaps awareness is beauty, though sometimes forgetting or not knowing is at least temporarily appropriate in our present incarnations.