Possibilities
There they are, in the palm of your upturned hand, ready to unfold in front of you and eclipse the weariness that lies engrained in your eyes. You can’t quite grasp the importance of this moment, even though it has never tried to reveal itself so adamantly. It’s a single second of awareness that needs to trickle down from the crevices of your subconscious mind, unloading into the shiver of a vital insight, a surge of electricity that tenses up every muscle in your body, puts every fiber and every vain on high alert. It’s the warm rush of whirlwind blood pumping through your chest, the intense gasp of air that forces open your lungs and enlightens you. It’s that spark of inspiration that emerges out of nowhere and hits you like a thunderstorm, brings you to places you have never been, where divinity lurks in the whitest of shadows. You are merely an idea, a vague dream of randomness deferred, a wondrous accident that has been granted the temporary capacity to think and feel. Still, you nearly constantly waste the time, letting all you have and all you are, your entire potential, slip through the atoms that make up your fingers. Life, sinking away like sand in a bottomless hourglass. You know deep inside, that you have no time to waste, for it is the most precious of currencies in this human concept of a universe. And yet, you squander it without ever considering the consequences. You carelessly throw it away with the audacity of an immortal. You circle the sun with your eyes closed, your senses unplugged. You don’t touch and won’t be touched. You have made an art form of trying to remain unmoved while you curve yourself at high speed toward a bland finale. And when that moment of goodbye arrives, you’ll go into the night, never knowing that they were all there, all of the time, in the palm of your hand.
The possibilities.
Peter (March 31st 2012)
