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Friday
Apr052019

Neither Here nor There

Every passage is thus, a place unto itself, a thing that connects, but is also disconnected. Each moment is its own molecule, each transition its own ellipsis.


The ones on planes are always strange, the pressing reality of this tightly constrained space, this corridor with wings, oppressive by design. And yet, if you stop to think about it for a moment, to look out the window if you're lucky enough to have the perspective, it's this thing of pure magic...flying, but so far removed from the senses that communicate you are aloft, floating above a blanket of clouds, or a sprawling expanse of water, or the crinkled landscape of a mountain range or a spreading patchwork of farms.


It is that fundamental paradox, I am submitting myself to this unpleasantness, packed in here with these other bodies, an unfortunate means to a desired or required destination. And yet, the whole of this craft and all those aboard have broken gravity's chains, or at least that is the illusion conveyed by the blanket of clouds and the fading daylight cast in a panoply of colors.


Every transition is its own passage, but not all are equal by any means or measure. Sometimes it is the world dragging you kicking and screaming, sometimes it is the beckoning call that you answer with a willing heart and a head full of dream, sometimes it is the unkindness done to you by others forcing change you neither needed nor desired, and sometimes it is simply time. They all have their own attendant character (and characters). They each leave their marks upon our cells, whether joyous or not, they each wear us down a little even when they allow us to raise ourselves up. Every movement has a cost, whether it is paid willingly or not.


The world winds along, it has not moved on yet. It spins and carries us with a motion we can neither fight nor flee...at least not for the time being. The passage of time pushes us forward, through each passing moment, each transition that resembles the ones which came before but each is its own.

 

We are ephemeral things, neither here nor there. We think ourselves bold and powerful, if not as individuals as a whole, but we are neither. We are a moment caught in the middle, a creature of transition. We are at best a thing that connects these moments with some ease and grace and perhaps even a little compassion.

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