Sunday, October 13, 2013

4678. A QUIET CAB

A QUIET CAB
Having never shot from a window, I can't
explain the idea of movement. Aiming a bit
ahead of the moving target, I think that's right  - 
but I am moving too. The globe itself is turning
and moving, both. But relativity takes care of
that, making all things appear as still.
Stationary. In place. What sort
of world is that?
-
Erasures blur the surface  -  scratch the
image, move the eye. Nothing seems
left when done. I look for glare at the
window's edge. There is nothing in
this quiet cab : I have a broom, a knob,
a door-handle and a lamp. Six hundred
years ago, would I not be a rich man?
-
The elixir of Life is the elixir of Self, and
the journey of the two together matter.
I am searching hard for something,
but have I lost my way?

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