Seeing the Cosmos: A Surrender
The endurance of time, encapsulated in a tiny tendril of sand.
Fragility meeting infinity — a delicate balance.
You stand upon specks of epochs, countless eras fitted inside atomic proportions,
and you let the feeling engulf you,
this feeling of such diverse individuality,
and you hold it in your heart like you hold the soft grains of the universe in your palm.
Is this what it feels like? You wonder.
Is this what it feels like to be, at once, fulfilled and incomplete?
You are a record player on an endless loop,
occupying the exact moment in time and space when the needle finds its mark.
You are a freckle on the nape of god's neck,
unique, indistinguishable, small.
You are facing the sea, heels digging into the insurmountable progression of millennia,
waves of histories and memories rolling into the harbor of the past, and you find purchase in the way the water renders you raw.
Like marble uncarved, your lines are not yet smooth, your boundaries to be identified.
Can you feel the winds shine your edges?
Are the fingers of expanse wrapping around your angles, rubbing at your corners?
If you hold your breath, you think you can feel the horizon exhale in your place.
The grit that follows the moving,
the grime of decades stacked,
is dissolved amid white crests and salty foam,
exasperated beneath skies that delight sailors.
All the shades of the world blend into one, deep and unattainable,
twenty thousand leagues below.
A siren's call enchants the shore,
echoes to the caverns of treasure island,
roots in the minds of meek men,
vibrations sliding along the backs of white whales.
Why do you think it is sand that sifts through the hourglass?