61

Age is fundamental. Rocks become mountains, seeds plant their identity in their roots, the universe expands, then snaps back, and memories become entangled. What was once thought to be, never was; or is birthed anew? Once, I was in love with a woman I did not know, yet I believe she knew me, yet love was probably never part of her equation, if memory serves truth to be. From fields of sand, to a lush world of Pygmies and greens, she has sent me afar, and kept me close, tantalizing secrets and tidbits of clues along the way. Not one of which I comprehend.

Here I recline, in a tattered, worn lawn chair, on an airless moon, small and grey, rock and dust, end over end, everything in motion, and I’m contemplating the small circular structure laid out before me that rises up, out above the near horizon. A coin standing on edge, lacking support, marked with unknown symbols that match those that I wear around my neck. Markings that have no meaning in reference to known things, except I have seen them before, on a scrap of parchment as well the medallion.

There is a thought that nature encompasses living things, a blade of grass in a field of brown and green, the song of a bird calling the rising sun, a mosquito alighting on an inviting arm. This too is nature, a cold dark void where there is no breath, and yet I breath. Here too, I am part of the natural world even in the denial of what is natural. What should not be possible, often is. Once, a day long gone, an old man voiced to a young man’s ear, ‘that what can not be, can always be, and ask instead, how it can be?’.

I ask, there are no answers, and I question the realities of the universe spread out before me, a universe of darkness sprinkled with specks of past and future worlds. My mind plays, I hear a cowbell, and I take note of a glow off behind the erect circular coin. I watch, and wonder what I am about to witness.

Love is not a mysterious thing. There are a thousand different flavors of such, but love is often denied to those who need it most. A closed heart, an errant mindset closes the valves of a beating heart, leading to a desolate world. Love too, is appreciation, a delight in experience, and often opens a heart to new possibilities. The world changes, everything changes. The glow becomes a bit more colorful, and just above the close off horizon, a faint hint of a new world rotates into view, and my heart settles in a vapid pulse of wonder.

I am in a timeless place, where silence is replaced with a dance of ascending world peeking out slow and dutiful to music she alone is playing, and she alone can hear, but I believe the sounds to be a majestic rhythm in beat with my heart. A blue green world of land mass and oceans arises while I watch from my weathered lawn chair planted firmly in the moon dust of my desolated little rock of a moon.

I am small. Beaten and assaulted, tired, the breath of life taken by the journey. I am old. I am, in this misery, content. Beauty does nothing to wash away the truth of ugliness, yet I come to understand the ugliness is rooted in the foundation of the age. There is a grayness to it, a coming shadow, that the light of the new world casts upon the coin, payments that I have made, and been made, or perhaps now come due as the symbols before me come to light, casting their own shadows of light and blend, as they disappear from the surface of the coin, and I am awash from the light that penetrates through the voids of space and time. My little piece of rock is alighted, as I am, awash in symbology of a new world. I do not become one with the universe, that is another’s path, one denied this old fool, but I become one with my heart, and I now know, my journey is just continues.

57~58~59~60~61


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