Non-Locality On A Kitestring

I can feel this consciousness; That it's nowhere, and yet it feels local: It's not in the rocks or the soil, the trees Or the sky; it goes where I go And I know where I'm going- But it goes, without knowing. Time and distance mean nothing to it; And I'm its parasite, all the while believing That I'm the one in charge; Keeper of the maps and the shoes, The tires and the itinerary. Without it, I'm nothing and nowhere, Just as lost in space as it is. But I can't help fantasizing About being the kite for once Instead of always being the kitestring.