Living in the moment, without past or future, only now, is difficult
when her world hangs on a thread which a good wind might detach, a thread she
can’t catch again if set loose, and which always does, all too aware of that
moment of separation, the way an astronaut knows the stages of a rocket detach,
and knows there is no going back.
Sometimes going is all you know, not where you’ll end up,
the sheer motion, the rub against the hill, the weakening pull of gravity that
holds her to earth, each shed until she floats in space, weightless, wondering
where if she will ultimately land, on Mars or The Moon, or maybe a crash and
burn on the planet from which she started, not back to the past but into the
wreckage of the ever present, though even that she can’t predict, the moment, and
must love win or not, living in that moment, imprisoned by it, condemned to
accept whatever fate has instore for her, heaven or hell, mars or the moon, or
back on he same planet. She never knows.
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