We are surrounded by transparent pillars of time. Like a fine-toothed comb, their teeth brush across our mind and everything appears to fall into place. Today, my comb broke, and I felt the raw power of time at its blunted edge, an edge that cuts fiercely and unforgivably, leaving skewed perceptions in its wake.
I am constantly in contention with the onward thrust of time. “Time of death,” one might hear. Yet, it is Time and Death that seem intimately intertwined, finely woven into the fabric of our being. There are moments, like today, where I feel destroyed, as if my existence has departed in the traditional sense, and I am viewing my experience from another vantage point. When this happens, I am given pause. Time becomes less relevant once I see it from a point of view that declares there is no measure of time, only of sensations, of experience.
It is days like today where I feel closest to death, and I’m forced to wonder how to recreate the conditions for tomorrow and onward so when the moment comes where my beating heart is extinguished, I shall slit my wrists with broken combs and laugh into my grave.