September 4, 2021
The Book Of Counted Sorrows
On the road that I have taken,
one day, walking, I awaken,
amazed to see where I have come,
where I’m going, where I’m from.
— from Dark Rivers of the Heart
— Dean Koontz
The Present is now.
It is NOW, right now.
Now it is the future and now it is past, right now.
Now is the tip of an arrow aimed at a target that never arrives.
The present does not wait for the end of my sentence.
i thought that sleep would pause time.
Instead, it began a dream.
One imagination followed another in the flash of a moment,
until i awoke.
Time has no rhythm. It hums with one tone.
Eleven quantum vibrations, but one tone.
Like 4-4 time, it rocks my roll.
Only my perception affects its velocity.
Now is slow.
Like a streaming video, the future accumulates yesterday into prescience.
The buffer of planning spools as i execute the now.
The present is like riding a surfboard.
i paddle toward the swell’s base until i’m swept to wave’s end
only to turn out onto another swell.
By the time i consider the present it is past.
i do not cease from exploration
and in my prescient
i know the place in the now.
Thank you mister Eliot.
— rickiT 2021