Awake at the edge of town with an apple in her hand

Before you look on through the Telephone and Television Age, you must know where it all came from.

Before there is sound, before there is sight, there is word, there is thought. Such is the nature of the big beginning, an undying force in juvenile As, Bs and Cs and the unsophisticated flare up of neurons. Thought matures, solidifies, and remains at the very bottom of reality. It is so quick it appears to never move at all, and so it seems to lie down watching life flaunt its tangible colors and sensations above. 

A human would subject themselves to great torment, yet even greater bliss of wonder, if they choose to not reach for one or the other: sweet, sweet sadistic life or formless and alluring though. The middle is not reserved for bodies and tender brains. Up, your spirit weakens with time, thirsty for ascendance and longing for peace, down your flesh deteriorates eventually, suffocated with questions and hungry for care. The middle could be your miraculous triumph: sanity and health, a mind for your heart and a heart for your mind, or it could split you in half into nothingness. 

I have been persuaded to linger by the surface by good sleep, calm, the pleasant ache of effort, the gentleness of rest. I have seen and adored laughter, weakness, purgation, and the other shames of thoughtless personhood. Because I am not that capable, for me to attempt the impossible: an immediate marriage of body and soul, I will for now know matter, space, physique; slowly pushing end towards beginning, hoping I don't end before I can experience their meeting. 

I will for now know Light, Sound, and Time. 

I will know Space.