I chose an eternity of this. I chose an eternity of the velvety, silky darkness that now surrounds me. Sometimes there is a tiny flicker of light, that pinpoint in the blackness around me. Vast eons of time are birthed and die like great mountains of being between their appearance, but sometimes there is somthing. I can look at the light, and touch it. It is like a small grain of light, a tight dot of cold energy frozen into a speck. I always look for the light to shine on my hands, to highlight the ridges of the prints on my palm, and to give the sharp contrast of shadow to the folds. But, I never see my hands. I never see anything of myself. I’m not sure if the light is frozen, or if I no longer have hands upon which it might shine.
Now I push those thoughts out of my head as soon as they start to form. I used to dwell on the ideas, probe what I knew and try to determine Truth. But that takes forever. Literally forever. Truth is as Truth is, and it fills the horizon of infinity. If I try to comprehend it all, the light goes out. There is a slight inhalation almost, as the light grows imperceptibly brighter, then a soft sigh, and the light is no more.
When I am waiting for the lights, I am convinced that this is all that I am. I have become waiting – the impatient longing of desire personified. I am a hopeless emotion that is self-aware, breathing and seething, and waiting for something. For anything. There, I am truly outside of time, as I chose. Time is as a vast night sea, churning invisibly outside of the little boat of my consciousness. I cannot touch it, nor interact with it, but I know of it. I know that it is, and that things are contained within it. But I am separated from those things by a chasm that can I cannot cross at will.
In those rare occasions when eternity pauses, when a wave breaks with a special urgency, the gap is bridged. Once again I know time. Once again I can taste causality. Those sharp angles of law, those brittle edges of the jewel of time press against what should be my hand, and the little light rests before me. At first, I saw nothing in the brief span of life of the light. I knew only the soft, cold glow before me – pure white and unblemished until it evaporated. But now, now I can see the light as it grows. I am still on the far side of time, and it is as the strange echoes of a language that I no longer speak. But the memory of it tugs at me.
I know the light is within time. The thought of it makes me smile. And here, in this place, that smile runs eternal and infinite. When I again become aware of the light, i feel that I am myself radiant, and that all that is contained within that glowing speck is aware of my brightness, even a I watch its luster. I cradle this morsel of existence, and pour into it all that I am become, and we are together as one for an age. For me, this is eternal, my choice. Inside that grain, time unfolds and grows and flutters. Inside, one event brings about another from beginning to end. But there is a beginning and an end. Perhaps it is circular, on the inside. It is a question that has no real meaning in the timeless dark. I understand of their beginning, and their end, just as I understand that for me, there is no beginning, and no end.
I chose an eternity of this, an eternity of eternities – each completely defined by emotion. Eternity of solitude, communion of the selfless-self, outside and apart completely, forever. And, eternity within time – eternity swallowed by the soft glow of self-awareness of infinite, insignificant selves. An eternity of inclusion of those selves within my own, a broken mirror reflection of time-bound consciousness, and timelessness unending.
There was never really a choice.
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