Lying awake at night, staring past the darkness and into those lights, colors and patterns that aren’t there, because somehow they seem more real, more worthy, more tangible than anything in the mundane world, is when the thought arises. This thought, this action, this place has been countless times. It is a life filled with these nights of introspection, reflection and wondering. Each time this place is visited, it is the same. The same thoughts are had at the age of three, twenty-seven, forty-five and seventy-two. It is that singular repeating moment which feels like all that preceded it and all which will follow. The circumstances around it differ. The details are unique. There are nuances to its flavor, but each time this moment is revisited, it is the same.
Coming to this moment, time and again throughout a miniscule eternity, peering between reality and illusion, a question arises. Is this all that there is? Is this the meaning? Is this the end of the search? Inside there is a sphere. It swells beyond the ability to contain it, pushing the limit of physicality, yet never bursting. It contracts and fades neatly into the recesses of the subconscious, hiding, undetected by a busy mind, yet always present. It waxes and wanes with each breath, ready pounce on any emotion or thought and rend sanity from experience. Anguish, silliness, rage, love, pain, ecstasy, fear and peace are but a few of its forms. This myriad of emotions, in all of its splendor, is still confined. They are what they are, with only subtle hints of texture differentiating between them.
In knowing this tacit fact, with tears brimming, another inquiry is made. Why? If this is all there is, why? If it is simply this motion of spinning and spiraling between ends of a spectrum, if the end is only the immutable balance which is to be reached after so much striving, why continue to endure? Does it matter whether the end come by unseen hands without malevolent intent or in a deliberate gesture of understanding? If that is it, why continue to feel, to think, to be, when it has all been felt, thought, been? Why is this eternal now so immutable?
But that’s it. It is—all of it. Waiting to be sensed, yearning to be seen, begging to be heard, longing to be touched, thirsting to be tasted, craving to be smelled, it mirrors me. Every facet, every aspect, every blissful subtlety is suddenly so incredibly beautiful. And those tears of a moment ago, rivulets of loneliness, now emanate from that sphere with joy and awe. Expanding into the night, I know that connection was never lost. And so I drift, one with the waves, to sleep in true peace and smiling at tomorrow.
