I am stilled…yet I move silently through space and time dipping my self into the rippling oscillations that define my surroundings, amorphous circles that silently vanish as they spread out from my being
Invariably, I ride the waves, momentarily, until they disperse into the nothing, the space that is not space, and into time that is stilled at birth. I ride the waves of reality, a being that become in the latent memories of its being, of a remembrance of that which was once and will be before being again. I ride the waves of reality bound to the ambivalent wills that sensuously course through the membranes of being…becoming one and other, once and always in the temperament wake of the waves crests breaking upon the reefs of an occasion brought to life…a singular moment lifted out of the breaking white waters of locality to once again be thrust into the calm waters of space-time to await the surge of the next wave, the next moment of becoming being.
And there, between the sultry sprays of mist that arise from the break of the waves upon the reefs of an occasion: there in the shadows of savory mists that wash the memory off a trembling body thrust into the open space of time, there I see you…or, rather, I see the wisps that were you before the moment: I see the curvature of being enveloped by the mantles of space-time. I see the flickering reflections of a memory to be, a scintillating calm saunter its way riding its own wave through the vast emptiness of space…
Like many, once and again, come you; you become…once and always: never having been…never to be again. A moment in space-time…being…becoming…not-being what was but will be.
If you pass by, you decide to go or stay…I am but a moment in your life…in anyone’s life, for that matter. I am what you make of me; it is what you make of it…I just sit, maybe…probably not in your sights, but in your periphery waiting to be recognized; waiting to be part of your being.
Was I real? Were you real? What is real?
You see: whether you know it or not, I am a part of your being, of your life, of your passage through space-time…for as long or as short as it may be, my presence being only temporary, no more than a moment in a series of moments…forever a forgotten memory foolishly imprinted on the chance of a moments gleam. You were there…maybe. But in the act of being you did not see me there…waiting. For I was not there. Not when you looked. And so I moved, as you moved…and we moved away knowing neither to what, nor from where. Be it a wonderful moment…or an empty shell of delusions…that is not for us to know, but to be lived in the memory of what has been, of what never was…
It doesn’t matter…in the end it never does…one is a moment in everyone’s being, a forgettable one at that…memorable in its forgetting. I was one in yours, as I have been in many others. I have moved on; as I never was there to begin with…I always moved on to seek a new port to light its way…stilled in the presence of a being, forever moving, forever riding the wake of the moment, a moment that never was…a moment that has always been…