the carry

Those other times are contiguous with this one. Time never broke its stride. Circling around itself in cathedralic spirals time coheres and decoheres all of being into every life that has ever been and every life that will ever be lived. It is all one beneath the surface of words and wisdom.

To experience this present is to digest the rhythm of eternity. To stand on a rocky shore to witness it being carved from stone by pure flow. Time is a plasma, which expands to fill the space carved out by all of Being. 

The fundament spins and the minutiae flicker in and out of existence, and the dance goes on. Satori. Revelation of what has been and will be and was and is all at once, refracted through a different lens, focused through a different aperture, through uncountable eyes and ears and hearts and minds.

Deep time stops for no one, and starts for no one. It simply is, was, and will be from and to perpetuity.

The partygoers stand in its catoptric vestibule, some waiting, some mourning, and most importantly some rejoicing, yearning for the next note to be revealed, and carrying the choreography, which has come all this way from circular beginnings, still further into the next once it has reverberated. They twitch and careen, surrendering some of themselves to gravity and fighting its pull with the rest.

The forest and the rave are simultaneous. The nigh-silent whispers of the winter night’s wind grace the trees miles away as the machine heartbeat pounds, its unambiguous signal coursing through the nervous systems of the partygoers, a carrier wave impelling them towards transcendence. 

The future they’ve never imagined unfolds before their eyes, illustrated by forms emerging from the darkness, the choreography of what is to be defined in the negative space of the next breath, the next step, the next wave, the void that pulls their bodies into new shapes by way of Newton’s third, that constellates their joints into configurations eternal and novel simultaneously. The past is engulfed by the roiling present, and the partygoers have the pleasure of architecting this unfolding, this unfurling. The present is held in tension like the surface of a pool of mercury, the harmonics of all materiality harmonizing and resonating on its viscous yet immediately responsive interface, running and rippling with ease but resisting the ablutions of all but the densest souls.

Scribes and jesters circumnavigate the court, and the undefined formalities unfold with the rhythmicity of the sea, each denizen a witness, each yapper and orator elaborating a cosmic interlocution. 

Every now and then a rogue wave coalesces, a bore tide passes through, and the denizens of this temporal coastline are impelled by the high water onto new shores. Some of these creatures will find they are equipped to survive outside the water, charting courses into the beyond that others may follow one day, and the majority, grateful for gravity’s graceful return, find their next aspiration between crests.

Subwooferic oscillation conjured by the technomantic clergy holding space for eternity carves cymatics of constructive interference into the surface of the collective consciousness, the signal reverberating up and down the entwined strange loops iterating across the brick dancefloor. 

All of eternity expands and contracts with gaseous reciprocity, revealing between its unknowable bounds the infinite in glimpses, notes, and flashes of light. Resonant rhythms writhe and recalcitrance is remanded to the ruminators. Dancefloor as altar, decks and soundboard as deis, one learns about sin and virtue likewise in the church of flesh.