Way Station

 

Think upon the way stations.

A place to wait. A mental locale defined by a singular limbo realized. And here we find ourselves.  

Such a phrase. Here we find ourselves. 

Were we lost?  What created such disfunction?  The answer lay in the riddle of perceived time. 

Is it time that separates self from self?  Of course, you think. But is it not interesting that it is this other riddle of 'self' that notices? 

Perhaps the twisted question rests in this play between self and time. 

We are creatures of cycles, diurnal experience. We intuitively discern breaks of identity from one day to the next, one hour to the next. Noted in the calendar and the clock, our experience of the now expires and is recorded, and then reflected upon. 

Yet, isn't it just one long day from birth to death? The insomniacs understand how the cycle can be broken, and seen as a stream between light and dark and then light again. Seamless. 

So when separation of experience fails, then the mind can see the continuance of self. The unbroken length and breadth of our time, alive. 

It is a questioning of the very personal paradigms we carry high on a flag pole, as we each all march forward, discovering how choice later describes destiny. 

We all follow ourselves. Through the needle of our eyes. 

Is there a point to this?

Ask the balloon pierced by the hand that made it, as the moment of a birthday party's surprise,

arrives. 

You Burn, I Burn

You burn. I burn.
Ashes, dust, Again to learn.

Been falling since I woke,
Midnight, 3am, a late cloudy sunrise. 

Found the fire lit by my own hands,
Again, consuming the consumed. 

Left my breath blowing, careless,
Sometime last year. 
Lost your faces this year,
In a pit of fate, and fear. 

Dug the holes,

One and then two.

And meanwhile, my father, you. 

Can't find the time machine I wish.

Remaining is just cruel evaporative memory. 

Seems so silly.

The depth of feeling I deal,

Minus you. 

Compared to the rest of this desperate world. 

I don't know if sorrow has increased 

Over the long course of this earth's natural history. 

But it has increased here 

Of late. 

And I'm so sorry, and thankful.  

And other such ineffectual communications of my experience. 

Nothing I do will fight this known horrible beast. 

This relentless Entropy. 

I sometimes hate that I was brought here to live.  To have an I and eye. 

Pitiful self serving remorse.  

Yet it's real. And I declare truthfully, it's been with me since I had a me. 

And forgive me, you who finds this. 

Such notes do nothing more than a sudden culvert absorbing the momentary deluge. 

If I could just back up. Back away the recent floods. 

…

Fall Singularity

And, ultimately, it's just me. Everything falls away, the distractions dissolve in the fluid flow that is my continuous heartbeat. 

I confess I don't know how to live. Just work. Work through adversity, challenge, and the deaths the creep up on us. Like a hungry wolf pack on the icy plane. 

It's fall now. Generally the season, and specifically of my life.

I feel the passing of my father into his late winter state, and the house move from where maybe the sunniest years of life were spent with my betrothed, and the sudden loss of our dear pets that followed us here…marks the turn into the said third season. 

It leaves me sad and at a loss in this season of loss. 

Yet relentless, the world turns, and cryptically makes the sun appear to leave and come again. These revolutions will be the death of me. And may I add, literally. 

My continued coping choice in the face of irresistible entropy will hasten that personal death. 

But maybe. Maybe a light will find these eyes and actions. Maybe. 

I do not live without hope. Hope in this life is a jacket hanging in the closet. Waiting to be worn. I find only the logic of next steps, and smile to dissuade the truth. 

This act of writing is nice. Something I've enjoyed and feared. Very akin to the other coping mechanisms. 

I wait for the future (death), as I waited to be born (life). 

I'm sorry to those who thought I have a heart. And I'm sorry to those who thought I didn't.  

I'll try to not disappear into darkness, this Fall. But there are greater mysteries pulling us below than gravity.  

We can only pray light does yet find an escape from such singularity.