Dying in the Moment

In the language of Spirit it is said: “that we must die before we die.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ In the language of Sprit it is said: “that we must die before we die.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It kills me, a lot of things kill me. I mean the kind of ‘killing’ that blinks you out for a moment, that kind of little death. Such instances can be exquisite, like when your life unlatches, you stop in mid-throttle, halted upon a careening mania. There are no increments, no gradients, you just jump out of yourself. A powerful ****** can kill you with one thrust of bliss. Holding your baby for the first time, a sudden inexplicable gnosis obliterates your present, past and future. Writing a killer line in a poem - that can kill the reader for a bitty twitch of time. Those quiescent extinctions happen, in a single tick of abeyance, transient wipe-outs (too abrupt to me measured), when we forget to be both happy or sad, in nothing-flat we have ceased to be, we succumb, only to return. Between each taken breath, these little deaths may, at any time, undo time, revealing much more than we, the living, might care to admit.