Maybe Marcus, we ought to think of time as vertical, rather than horizontal. All of us, hurtling down an abyss. The things we see, people we know, like theatrical images on the walls, fleeting, blurring, falling at their own pace, as the end tugs the soles of our feet downward.
The rabbit hole to eternity? And what waits at the end?
Maybe you fall until you realise that neither the falling nor the end matters.
What if you are going up? Collecting all those images, expanding as they fill you, higher and higher, until you are free in the sky, blotting the sun, until you are just a tiny speck that has found the rhythm of the light.
Curious direction to fall, isn’t it?
high above the lake
I see my shadow
swimming with the pearl spot fish