Between now and then
there is a ripple, a valley.
I live there,
a straight line, a finite bridge
stretching across,
connecting two infinities.
The line that is no line,
an accumulation of points folding into themselves;
the distance that is not,
the now that never ends,
yet rests at both ends of the bridge,
spanning the ripple,
a timeless click-clack of tick-tack
always sounding above,
never moving,
walking the treadmill of zero,
of now.
Time, is here, is there.
Everything bends to now.
Everything flows in now.
Release yourself into the ocean of zero.
Now is the equal point
between nowhere and everywhere,
between past and prospect,
between all and nothing,
a nothingness that is everything,
a playground of Infinity,
the infinite play.
An infinite train passes timelessly
upon the bridge of the finite,
arriving at itself,
pondulating between finite and infinity,
across the ripple,
above the valley,
through the line that does not exist,
the equal sign between nowhere and everywhere,
a nothingness between past and prospect.
Yet still
presence is not display.
It is the quiet inhalation of being.
It is the act without the actor,
the seeing before the seen.
And now folds into then,
then folds into now;
the ripple, the valley, the line, the train,
the infinite play,
are all one,
all breathing,
all humming,
all oscillating
through the space
between what is
and what is not.
