in oldies

It Happens

So there you are, mouth full of French fries or eyes set on the professor or hugging yourself in the cold, and you see yourself. This is not the reverse self-perception so easily made available by the sea of mirrors around us. This is when you slip out of yourself and forget that you are. For a moment you are not the exchange of action potentials along neural pathways in a grey symmetrical wrinkled funnel cake wrapped in a knitted calcium shell. You are the curious entity behind that, looking from the outside in. The primal objective to consciously prevent anything perceptibly foreign from ceasing that oxygen flow to your neurons is ignored; you are not an object but instead a formless algorithm. You see your lot, under the bright and dark cycle of the alternating current of the filaments above, a large mammalian mollusk in a dark cave along the surface of the bottom of a hundred mile deep gaseous ocean. You can hardly see yourself in contrast to the much larger stone you are endlessly accelerating against, spinning about it as a short lived bacterium around a directionless thrown baseball. And in this vast, viscous darkness you are almost dimensionless, such a small seeming point at the intersection of so many axes, destination unknown because of the fakeness of the concept non-existing until invented by some other minds of such a short time ago. While this moment may be so fleeting and far away to grasp, the solemn feeling resulting is potent in its roots to absolution. And when the despair and acceptance reach equilibrium, and it seems that meaning has no meaning, the light from a nearby star will dance through the branches of a nearby tree, the pure ancient energy will continue its timeless course through you, warming you, the eyes of a beautiful other will see yours, and only an inescapable appreciation for the opportunity to be will ensue.