Let there be light


Slanted, the strip of light reveals sparse green grass sprinkled with hot pink flowers and dried leaves.

The setting feels magical, like walking into an enchanted forest, full of secrets and treasures to be unearthed.

Silence is almost palpable here. But if you pay close attention, the quietness will lift its veil just enough for you to hear the birds chiming in at regular intervals.

You wouldn't be surprised if one of those birds turned out not to be a bird at all, but a winged creature of the woods, ready to grant either wishes or curses, depending on your heart's truest intent.



Time is patient.

It drops and drops, building solid rock out of soft water and thousands of years. It never asks "When will I be done?", because it knows the secret of the never-ending road.

Which is, infinity is the journey. So you keep walking. Never reaching, never ceasing to long, moved by desire of desire alone, a hunger that both consumes and feeds itself. You keep walking.

Time speaks.

It speaks every language known to every living thing (and no thing exists which is not, living, that is). It can say "darkness" and make it so. It can say "let there be light" and there is. It can say "rock" and water will halt on its way to ground.

Time loves.

It loves equally. Everywhere it arrives, there it is its home. And from there, before long, it will have left. No strangeness scares it, no beauty bewitches it. It holds all things equally dear, surrendering to none.


Like powdered sugar over green sweets.

The eye drawn, the stomach fooled, I could eat the damp green in one impulsive bite, then go laze in the sun, enjoying digestion. Pondering unanswerable questions, such as this:

Is it the water, or the light, or the one drowning in the other?
And which drowns in which?

Maybe you don't understand. Maybe you don't know where I'm coming from, you, city dweller, oblivious to the miracle of grass, or you, citizen of the countryside, eyes too full of it to notice.

But a cow would. It would turn its enormous, gentle, sympathetic eye towards me and wink, knowing what I meant and where I was coming from, which is where a cow comes from every time it lowers its head to graze.

That cows enjoy aesthetically pleasing meals may surprise you. But then, many of the world's most important truths would, if you really sat down to think about them.


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