by DJ Sprague

Op. 5   Beauteous Time

So easily can a beauteous sensation spawn a brief eternity, in which the universe becomes weightless and non'existent, except for what is experienced in that instant

  When winter is in the north, I face the southern horizon, and to the east, I see the sun rise brightly red, and set abruptly in the west. And below the equator, the same sun is seen while facing the northern horizon, rising leisurely high in the eastern sky, and setting red in the west. North of the equator, I look far to the east. My time is high noon. Their time, deep night. At one minute past this midday hour, I look again to the east, in the midst of this cold windy day. I look to where everyone is sleeping, resting for the next day approaching. And far westward from this midday, they stir from a deep repose for yet another morning, in the beginning of winter's night. Down under from there, other people are also rising, but with a warm bright morning..because there, it is early summer. Gaining time, traveling toward dawn. Losing time, passing twilight..experiencing no time, leaving at noon and arriving at noon of the same day that was left behind, thousands of miles away..time sways, time streams..time stops, time dreams. Time speeds, time crawls, time is saved or lost, but more often belonging to a different day, or to a different part of a day. At the moment of midnight faraway, out at sea, if I should look to the west, I would see the first moments of tomorrow. With each passing moment, tomorrow grows from yesterday, as yesterday steadily yields to the silent meditation of Earth. And when the last moment of a solitary yesterday passes, there is an instant when all of Earth is of the same..when the border of tomorrow and the boundary of yesterday disappeared, and all time on Earth, seems to belong to a single day. Yet, such a brief passing this instant is, passing as quietly as the Earth turns, turning for a new day, with yesterday close behind

  Time bleeds, time weeps..time keeps and moves on. Time takes, time forsakes..time initiates and terminates. Time gives, time forgives, and lives and re'lives. Time is elixer, fixer, mixer. Time is the medium in which all negotiates. The impossible becomes possible, and the intractable, in time, sees a larger world than itself. And as much as time serves, it serves un'aware..unless in its passing, its passing self'aware, takes forever

  Falling I am, into paradise image of wonder divine, I find endless play among metaphysical stars in this timeless space, as one starry paradigm imperceptibly shifts to another. With eternal night and day, ever fading, ever regaining, am I newborn, and reborn again and again with each new sensation...touch, sight and sound, fragrance and flavor, and the mystery of color. Dark sleep is but a brief passing eternity within which, the world and its universe exists without me, and with each passing night, a bit of beauty shall also surely and unnoticed as the Earth turns, and time burns, and the moment last, never returns

  While faintly feeling all the beauteous sensations on a mid'summer's lazy day...where? but in this field of dried hay standing still, do purgatories lay. Laying in silence, deep stillness. Hearing nothing else except breathing, and heart beating. Where else? but in the stillness of suspended time, can paradises of beauty be paid. Where else? amid the sultry stillness of a mid summer's midday, can I feel the subtle, gentle essence of my beginning. Throughout eons unending, it seems..from eternities refrained, am I so formed. From countless periods of time, have subtleties of sensation emerged to be. And how dearly now, do I pay to foster anything of worth! How painfully must I give? a bit of soul for a portion of beauty, for a new sensation, as some light casts its ray into there, and that bit turns from un'conscious night, to conscious light, so beauty may live

  As this world is perceived, this universe was so long ago made. As the universe was so made, was I, from the need to be, so formed. And so formed am I, with only a minute portion of matter there is. Of water, my body mostly is. Of space, I am..more than water. A portion of water, and a portion of space, with a minute portion of matter, am I..but with any measure of sea, any portion of lake, or aloft within a great billowy mist, is there some water perceiving another?..or some faculty of a frozen mountain peak, knowing the beauty from there?..or anywhere? feeling pleasure thereby, of the systems of creation, and their intricate relation. Beyond the mountains and sky, beyond the sun and the great starry metropoli, to which I belong..far, far away from all this, is so much of creation continually being destroyed, as often as it is made. Being so very, very small in this vast system of things, amid imponderable mass and space am I. And so predisposed..I wonder..even so, amid all this, where is life and beauty? if it cannot first say, "I am, I live"

  In this world of many sparkling lights, vast regions of stars and space are everywhere. As a speck in this vastness, I am. As a being, my senses are hopelessly inept in bringing to me now, the universe everywhere. Within this firmament, there is only the sparkling and the twinkling of a very old memory. Even the steady blaze of the radiant sun, is but a memory of its slow decay..the minutes it took to arrive and make this day. Yet, from all and everything, did I spring. To be. To feel. To simply say, "I am." Is this the sole purpose? of all the vastness of space, and imponderable substance..this simple awareness, this self'seeing eye. And if there be only one eye, would it not be the center of the universe? with but one sentiment of beauty. And if there be only one sentiment in the universe, would not that sentiment? own the universe

  Within a minute portion of space, I am through a minute portion of my body perceiving beauty against imposed gradients of order and disorder. Amid great regions of timeless space and unyielding giants of radiant matter, one must travel far to find even one origin of beauty from minute space and matter, self'aware. And how easily! this minute realm can, with one simple vision, achieve parity with all there is. Aye indeed!..only, through a self'seeing eye, do the I's of existential calamities lie, vie, and die in eternities for a bit of beauty

  Within sweet haven, I be for a time, for a brief moment. For a blink of evolution's eye, I am of an insignificant amount of time. Knowing only a minute region of the universe immediately around me, I reside upon earthen ground with colors darkly mixing, moving through space..swiftly, silently, moving inconspicuously through so much imposing convoluted light. Within the depths of endless eddies and oceans of void am I. Deep in space, I am in the midst of a vast ocean of emptiness. Of spiraling systems of starry clusters, I am within a single cluster upon a planet held fast by a solitary common star among countless stars. Within a body I call my own, am I. Within this tiny portion of matter, I am amid the vastness of space and matter everywhere around me. With minute space and time, I perceive only a small ray of all the kinds of light there are. I can only touch a minute portion of all matter that can be felt. I hear, taste, and smell only within very narrow thresholds. Like the tiny Earth I am upon, my body is but a minute fragment of all there is. Yet, how easily can a single sensation of beauty, equal or outweigh all the preponderance of matter and space there be. So easily, can the rest of the universe be made weightless and non'existent in the moment, when the least of beauty is perceived. An entire universe of stars, or a whole solar system, or this world of Earth and moon can be obliterated, during beauteous time..even for the chance that a bit of beauty may be gained, large portions of soul may be given..or in the end, after a lifetime and chance misfortune, with so few precious feelings..even the whole of one's soul may be offered, for a beauteous sensation, where there was none before

  Traveling swiftly and silently upon a journey through deep stillness, within this silent emptiness, I am upon a small vessel turning..basking before a radiant starry body. Time sees, and time sleeps. The day turns, the night creeps. Like in some deep slumber, the Earth slowly turns, and time inevitably returns the warm radiance of the sun, to everyone. Time breathes as the Earth turns, and time chants as the seasons pass in motion around the sun, spiraling through space, this Earth is where beauty lives

  And upon the Earth, over land and sea..over the cold extremes far to the north and south are the spirits of the wind, unseen yet everywhere. Rising high, high away from the Earth below, clean and clear, the spirits enter freely, any who would notice its rhythm..breathing in some sleeping rhyme, the Earth the seasons, its  rhythm conducted by the Sun..and the sea, its cadence, directed by the moon..rising, ebbing, and falling, I breathe freely, and feel its charm...grand, brilliant, and warm

  So far from hand and eye making and guiding this creation around me, I am a self'seeing eternal void, eternally seeking pleasure. Feeling the emptiness of space, I know the directions that space has to offer. I am soothed and seasoned by beauty enpassing. For beauty divine, how precious are the subtle agonies of discord? How valuable are the terrors of tough love, posing itself as love?..or the impending doom of hate, fear'driven delusions posing itself as fate, or fearless delusions, offering themselves as escape. How valuable? is any tyranny of mind, dominating. Yet, they are progenitors of beauty..the mud from which, beauty springs

  Within the extremes of Earth, will life endure eternities of twilight and dawn..of heavy summer days firing clay and barren soil, where the waters are barely measured or felt..or where the earthen floor, thick with evergreen, is gorged with fresh waters, flowing, seeking its own level..where a small village sits highest in the sky, and the million stars at night readily penetrate the cool stillness of a nocturne mind there..where the Earth cracks deep and wide, opening its past to any, that may read its memory..where the wind can blow a shaft of straw through a tree..or where the waters freeze readily, around the eyes..such eyes ensearching, would find, even amid these extremes, some vision of beauty. I live..even if only for a brief moment, and a brief moment more, if more is at hand, because in that moment, beauty may arise, and as easily as wise Earth becomes covered with autumn leaves, immortal infernos of pain become forgotten in beauteous time. It is, by some proportion of magic that beauty in all its splendor, make eternities of wonder, and life, forever

REV:  Feb 2018

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