Time Spent and Time Kept

A small place in the woods. A winding quiet forgotten trail that leads up and up and up into the canopy.  It spills about a wandering dynamic, a damp musky matrix of undergrowth, a buzzing metropolis of movement and matter.  Amongst the mulch lies rock and reformation.  The signs of man and woman, a creation of vanity and veracity.  A dueling combination of subjective creativity and engineering amongst a hardened preface forged by the hand of time and unleashed elements.  

The conditions are different but the feelings are the same.  The sound of crunching wet gravel underfoot, the cascade of settled rain from a disturbed spiney tendril of vine-maple.  It is not about forgetting how, it is about the innate sense of touch and smell.  The analytical brain shuts off and the animal brain takes over, measuring depth and metering out sense and strength.  

Waiting to breathe.  Filtering thoughts through a severe moment of intent.  Speckled light plasters the lower part of the wall once more.  A cycle that goes unbroken.  Even through spectating it is impossible not to be engulfed.  Exhalation is vibration, a growing sense of anticipation, a small moment stretched to infinity.  

The words of my companion’s tumble through my head like clothes in a dryer.  They reverberate off cilia and pinball between neurons roller coasting their way to the center of my earth’s core; ubiquitous, resounding laughter is the outcome.  A cheek pressed against the smooth stone towering white above like a never-ending sea of ivory.  Streaked into perfection by affect and wavering slightly to one side, the behemoth yields and becomes an unmovable sanctuary. 

The cause is a simple clip.  A balance must be struck between smooth patience and a rush to shattered euphoria.  The mechanics of transitional states of mind live in a five fingered realm, a sinuous web of pulleys and attachments.  The grip of safety and the fleeting silence of transcendence.