Shouldn't…but Do

Not here
Not there
Having left
Not having arrived

Liminal, a place in flux

What is before
Will be after
Finding me here once again

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Burning fire over a coal-black river.  Pressing onward, licking past, seen but unseen.  Highway to Hades, always there, even in the best  moments.

Summer-paved asphalt road, heavy snow-melt under noon-day sun.  Connective tissue joining one house to another, one disparate story to the next, sighted and sightless.  So close.  So far.

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Hard to fall when on the ground.  Safe. You can let go now.  Good ground supports everything.

I am…here.

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Over twenty years ago I worked in the legal department of a food and drug company.  Always  my habit to arrive early – around 6:00 AM.  A lot of work got done in relative quiet and the only souls about were me, the switchboard gal, and the building manager Pete – a brusque fellow  kinder than he liked to appear.

In my cubicle early one morning I was reading a file when a glitch beeped my phone, causing me to look up.  To my wonder, the date on the phone changed from the actual date, to my year and date of birth.  At the same time, I impossibly heard my mother’s voice comment loudly Cynthia, it is time to wake up.

It was just a  moment, as those things always are.  On meandering out to the switchboard, the receptionist confirmed yes, there was a  glitch, yes, a different date appeared.

Ascribing logical meaning to illogical events is a common human mistake.  The stuff of religion and even the New Age.  Another human mistake is failing to notice, however unattainable, the meaning behind such an occurrence.

Last week during a yoga class I am privileged to attend, came another unmistakable command to wake up, without technical proof this time, and only by way of feeling.  Proof changes with age.  It is my belief  a well-lived life yields certitude of feeling,  faith in messages of self at middle age.

And on walkabout several days later, leafless trees, wind, clouds – even the ground I walked  – at once rose up with the same message, filling my body with an electric sense of now.  Even later, at mid-of-night, as a shining sun, an exhortation to wake, wake up.

I am not wise enough to translate these things, but I am present enough to withstand them  – and to take the point.

Look around you – the door, the the wall to your left, the fabric that envelopes you.  The  fullness of atmosphere that only appears invisible.  Our world is limited  by our view, our perspective.  In each scene, at each door, in the posture of  objects and orientation of events, our time is only part of a far more complex setting.  Beyond the punctuating clock is integrated space, experience.  Expansive depth and wrinkles  of  understanding clamor  – if only we could roust ourselves.  If only.

No one wakes up – because no one knows, or truly believes they are asleep…but I know I am.  It is time to wake up.

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A world so bold, loud, large, ceaseless, angry, joyful,  spreading.

A world so small,  infinite,  still. One sound can raze a city, one colour create a civilization, one sensation can capture eternity.

From one to another, and back.

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