The Edges of Now

My “now” is not your “now” it will never be but it never
was…to start with it never started and was never
finished; ”now” is Reality looking back at and seeing
where it is going…as it goes there, as it expands from
the center out it rolls over infinite points of “now”
all relative only to themselves.

Reality has no plan no design no effort expended or
managed for where we go-do-say-think-feel as we all
are prodded along…pushed by time toward someplace
that’s not the beginning not quite the end but some-
where that is very much like now, or now, or now, or
the edge; a split second before the last split second

That thing we perceive and color our own we mask
and drape with expectation with dreams and worries
we call when sad when poor when hurt when in love
and deliciously happy…that thing that stands next to
the thing we see, the thing we call reality perfectly
happy to be the silent partner

In essence we are nothing more than a notion, an
idea of who we are…floating details of hair color of
penis length of breast size of psychosis of factual and
fanciful reaction to the collapse and avalanche of
competing energy…another one of us thinking she he
is real is solid is more than just thought and dream

It all goes away, this life—this reason—this rolling
motion moment toward an unknown we know too well
a blurry future memory of where we will be when we
will be no more…a siren song of gravity inexorably
pulling us downward, needing us to be close to be
there when there is all that is left of here

it all starts again…as it is dying it is born and it is
always and forever locked; a fluctuating frequency of
being and not being, of the perpetual myth that is life
and happiness like reality notices cares wonders why
we expend so much toward something irrelevant to
time to space…to the edges of where now is

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