Synchronicity.
Time,
moving in an unending line.
Linear from our quickening,
to our death.
I don’t think
that every breath
is charted course,
laid out in advance
of our needs,
our yearning to be.
Our destiny,
no stronger than our will.
Paper thin,
the veil on which
is writ our part.
Tears become new paths,
and stains,
memories.
Mirror back to back,
the concourse of the stars
in any sky.
Two hearts beat together,
mingling
in the pools of ethereal space.
Two things the same,
but of different realities.
The possibility
of all things possible,
in every possible universe,
being aligned
for one second,
one instant,
one act,
one breath,
one thought…
… and then it’s gone.
Back to the break beat.
Back to the markless clamour
and the doubtless melee of battle.
The conflict,
the grind,
the war.
Deep in our being,
a part of us knows,
and remembers
it is part of all things,
all time.
A memory
of a memory,
of the universe.
Echoes of creation.
Truth.
Undeniable.
HG – 2020
