A new moon rose with melancholic despair

A new moon rose with melancholic despair. An anxiety of a new kind is rising within the human spirit. Why does such a change scare us? We are all aware that this life is temporary, that we will die someday, maybe some day soon. But a change in certainty, in perhaps false certainty frightens us. I feel it myself. Nothing stays the same; change is permanent. But a new change is novel; it is something which arises from a previously dormant fountain of history. A lockdown of physical space while my mind runs wild.

I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe.

A hill rising and falling off in the distance, alive with its light. That moment is weightily alive, teeming with untold amounts of meaning. The sun falls upon it, as was destined from the creation of the earth.

The wind, sweeping through the trees and out across the rippling water, stills for a brief moment. The swaying trees sync their potential energy up perfectly with the first few rays of light emerging from a cloud. Sound stills; earth quiets; something unfathomable remains and shimmers across the aeons.

Shadows of life and shadows of death; the wind forms itself far off, always noisy until it has passed by. The wind touches chaos in the trees and releases order in small pockets of water. The evening sun always slants angular through the trees, and the wind always blows back and forth, up and down. But the shadows of that angular light, and the water upon which those shadows rest for a time, are given no meaning, are captured in no way. Joy, wondrous, fountainous joy in living water, are, for a short time, all that there is and all that there ever was or will be.

Published by Principium24

I want to write, as millions have before me. And I want to know what it is to be human, as few have before me.

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