You can sit on the shore, feeling the setting rays of the day’s sun cast their healing warmth upon you, listening to the waves gently lap forth and back across the sand, and feel a peace around you that almost makes you wonder about any moment where such contentment cannot be found.
But as you sit on that shore, feeling almost god-like in your joy and heartfulness, watching the sun disappear into the red-blue waves of the sea, the inevitable darkness walks up behind you, its chill, skeletal fingers lightly touching the back of your neck, drawing away the warmth left by the setting star. The sea before you churns as the rising moon wrecks her havoc on the waves, and beneath your feet, in the growing darkness (and only if you stop to listen), you can feel the world turning, spinning ever-onward, past the day before and the into next night, beyond the ‘not-yets’ and the ‘neverminds’, over mountains of excuses and seas of troubles, on well ahead of your journey’s end, into anothers’ time. In unending darkness you lay, the bony hand of Death teasing you with its touch, bringing past and present together in one fleeting moment where all is lost, and all can be found.
Beware the things that make you spiral away from the glowing star, and into the darkness. Only the grave awaits you there.
