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Transcendence






What a day is I cannot say. A period of time, you reply. Twenty-four hours:
Monday, or maybe Sunday, or one of the forgettables in-between. It’s tasks and habits
and errands, repeated, repeated, repeated. It’s eating and sleeping. It’s texting and sexting
and television and shopping online.
But none of those things defines a day. Those are merely the things you’ve hauled aboard
your ship. They are the limits of your vision. They define you, not the truth. They occupy
you while you stand at the wheel and shout orders to your listless crew. You don’t know
where you’re going; you desire only to avoid the Shadow.
What a day is I cannot say. With a wisp the moment sweeps me up and carries me away, the
hues free of judgment, the ecstasy in my tailbone anchored, my habits and definitions
offered in desperate handfuls to the free firmament, which has no need of them.
--From Fractalverse

~~*~~


This post first appeared on The Pier To Forever, please read the originial post: here

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Transcendence

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