The Interstices of Time

Time's world is porous. One may slip between the fabric weaving, journeying upon the back of art and music, poetry and meditation, and the offering of love. It is transition in a paradox of peace-filled paroxysm faith would not accommodate. Then just beyond, the spirits gather for a welcome that exceeds imagining. There the past and future laugh at their deception, vanishing like smoke. Come to the marrying of fear and celebration, the collision of realities we never sorted out. It's over there a bit, where mornings never yield to resting suns, and yesterdays that know not how to say goodbye. The pathways lie within your dreams but far outside as well. and all penultimate to that grand boulevard that we forsake with each device of breath and one insensitive laconic label... death. ~