chewing the old cud

205

There’s a sense of the galaxy of the known receding.  Yet I cannot say ‘behind’ me, for there’s no sense of forward movement; no pulling away or avoidance.

It’s more like gravity has lost its force and one floats in infinite space, directionless and positionless.

It’s like one is that space.

Then a call comes to communicate and one turns into some-thing that speaks, chews the old cud, spins the old stories, dances delightedly in the old dream…

And one never leaves that spaciousness for an instant.

~