One finds one’s self in strange circumstance upon what appears to be a ball rotating underfoot. Seemingly rock solid and unmoving under the hard light of day. Then retiring at night to the left side of the moon and waking up far right to the opposite. Betwixt this dead space lay one’s dreams. Seemingly the only thing more haphazard than one’s best laid daylight plans. How one’s dreams flitter to and fro after the break of dawn like butterfly’s whose wings are too quickly warmed by morning’s glaring light. Within the shadows so promptly cleared away recedes all things formerly once held as hopeful for the future but in reality laid down so wearily after the futility of finding any possibility of illumination within the night.
And humankind are but wanderer’s all who must cross this uneasy divide through the entirety of their earthly existence. Are we not then simply an extension of some lingering thought caught in the extended instant of self-contemplation by phantom entities undetected? The formulation of the most complex idea leading only to its replacement by another simpler more effective vintage. A little further down the road of that elusive bandit we call time. How we see the passage of our lives in faces so well-recognized but no longer evident. Occasionally to be exhumed on reflection at best from cold memory’s harbor of empty births now vacant and plunged back into still moonlit waters like Excalibur caught on the fly by the ivory hand of the lady of the lake.
Can anyone see their own anterior and not be convinced that the whole of the universe does not somehow emanate solely from their perspective? That singular viewpoint drawn out offering little more along the way than flanking surprises issuing constant defeat from untoward directions. And despite the best most well thought out schemes for exerting control over all to then bend so easily before the slightest bit of unexpected occurrence.
How then one can admire the inert wisdom of a common piece of cork which can so readily float betwixt gaseous and liquid states by simple fact of an innate composition. A substance unlike man to never be defeated finally by even the most fearsome of hurricanes or the vastness of oceans ever assured of eventual rest by fickle destiny upon a far off unseen random shore.