As the world spins around the sun, beings grounded by the force of gravity to the Earth’s crust tango with time, gracefully moving without knowing it, across the dance floor of heaven. Time, like a mirrored ball, has a reflective quality, although our brains, like two left feet on one man, have not developed enough to where we can sense the grove of change profoundly.
We experience the reality of the path we are all on looking down, not from a far-off perspective, through the visual aide of mechanical maps of the solar system—balls shaped in perspective to planets– all moving seamlessly by pulleys and chains. Like sleepy school children in science class, we pay little attention as to where we are in time space. What does it matter when this music has always played?
Man comprehends time by what is seen, not what is felt. Our senses are retarded, our vision blurred, and gravity is the harness that holds us back. In this perspective, up here, away from the normal flow of life on the ground, it is sometimes so hard to see life race by with so little change.
Through subtle changes in nature, like blooming flowers and trees, we sometimes catch a whiff of where we stand in the ball of eternity. Take note, the sun’s rays are growing either stronger or weaker. Changing hemispheres, watches wound by centrifugal motion, strike high noon in a few short moments. Look around– understand the space upon which life stands. It will be a while before we are back here again– to a point in space where we are at balance with what fuels our minds.
Another elliptical pull holds our understanding of the gift of eternal life at bay– a circular motion of our planet on a path around the sun makes it seem like there really is a finish line. We pass this point, year after year, as a conglomerate of mostly hydrogen, oxygen, dust and ignorance. We roll silently by this precise location in space, a point that if marked by a star on a map, or a dot on a globe, would indicate– ‘Vernal Highway’.
The miracle of life makes its way around that glowing bowl of gold in the sky, yet we are still mostly uninsured. Isn’t that just like life Earth– an unfulfilled emptiness—uncharted territory– nothing but space and time?
We are nurtured from afar and eventually, we’ll be free of this chain of gravity that keeps us all on this track. Until then, there is only poetry.
For now, on Earth, from here in Brooklyn, the seasons do seem even today; from north and south we stand in limbo, but from East to West, time still turns, and for one sacred moment, as we pass a signpost that reads nothing in empty space, we simply roll on by.
One stops the clock to write about it, another in motion, reads.
Tilted just slightly, increasing rays of the sun are gathered by the forces of Earth’s orbit, not by the gods as once imagined, but through science and laws we have yet to fully comprehend, but at least today, you can say, you read about it, right here, at this spot.