Searching

There are moments, I think, when a fleeting jolt of emotion afflicts a person's mind. For me, I treasure the moment. I notice it in people's eyes when they stare at me unblinkingly, almost fascinated by the babble that makes its way past my lips. They fall in love for a moment--that's the emotion; that's the incredulous stare.

But emotion is ephemeral, as I said above. And ephemerality is my business in prose--I cannot stop creating; but each new drop of ink and its codification of inspiration leave the last behind. With it, I build upon my self and abandon at once. As for the Others' fleeting feeling--I build upon and leave myself behind. I donate a piece of myself to them and their innocent, inadvertent love.

For the moment, I love them back. And moments in Time are eternal, so our love is, too. Now, this is simple prose, but simplification proves often most benefactory to man and his unlimited affinity for complication. To erase that complication--and I dare to--I ask what would it do to our humanity? Would we go mad with beauty? Mad with strain? Overwhelmed by the vastness of the ungraspable sky and our seeming (or possible) (or probable) insignificance in relation?

The beauty is harmony--how it cannot be interrupted, how it cannot be tainted or overrun by our din. The din is but a note in this universal song that reigns almost unnoticed over us. We must step back while continuing to sing. Our music in explosives can be changed, for a symphony has many movements and the movements change--the song can change, while the band plays on. Nothing must be forever permanent, save that of the Voices singing through the starlit vacuum and the darkness in between.

In conclusion: I would risk simplicity, the sacrifice of complication--for the Madness of the bellatristic and unimaginable. I would take the love wiht me and leave myself behind as I grow and you grow and we grow--into the sweeping attraction between moon nad tide, into the life-giving and life-taking glow of solar wind and shine.