Three times in one week we've visited the time-space continuum; who knew it was as close as a highway in Fort Wayne, Indiana, and we didn't have to travel the edge of the galaxy, after all? Three times, we found the pausing moment, or it found us: The truck horn blows, the cars slow down, the light changes; the truck speeds by, the traffic gathers, all the possibilities align; at the bottom of a breath, your heart stops to rest. Everything in slow motion, what you see and what you think, all the details clarified, entire universes spinning in the space between realities are recognized. The thread of who we are and who we might be unravel; falling into the gap, a new pattern emerges, maybe familiar, maybe a whole new cloth. Deus ex machina and god really is a machine. Stop, go, caution: rules, it seems, are made to be broken, as we are; we are crumpled, tossed, new sheets of paper filled with new stories, we are rewritten, recycled, reborn. "I want to know only that things gather themselves / with great patience, that they do this forever."*
Not the first time
* "Geodes," by Jared Carter.