Vertical Rhythm

You see them coming toward you. Two people close enough that their shadow is one. Indecipherable from each other. One leans and the other counters. They are older than you but far from old. The shadow moves with a unity that conjures nature. Like trees in a forest. A give, a take, a pull a push. Always in step with each other. Before you are close enough to see, you know right off the bat that you want that. A visceral want that gnaws deep inside a place you didn’t know existed.

You are a solitary figure cutting through the drab grey.. Barely a whisper, a wisp, a sliver in time. One step backwards and you would cease to exist. A retreat into the shadows of time. Solitude. Alone. One.

The power or one or the power of two? The choice has been made. Past decisions have put you here, at the crossroads of time and space. You are one. A solitary creature poised on the edge of the precipice. Looming in front of you, the future. The one thing you cannot control. Dark and dangerous, it is just past your field of vision. If you turn you head fast enough, you can almost catch a glimpse of it out of the corner of your eye. Just a glimpse to know you want to hold it back with all of your might. Keep the darkness at bay. One had reaching forward to the future, the other holding tightly to the past. Willing the decisions you made to change the course of action. But it never happens and you can’t will it differently.

The course has been set. Wheels in motion. A juggernaut. A force that cannot be stopped

You are one.

They are two.

They approach. Like trees in the wind. Sway and counter. Stop, go, they meld together. Tearing through the horizon.

The motion is hypnotizing. A vertical rhythm. Look away, but you can’t.

Blue, greens, reds swirl at the event horizon. Colours so vibrant you can hear them. The shimmer of colour so like a tinkling of bells, a pleasant vibration in the ear. An entrance has been made. The contrails of colour swirl behind them as they glide past you. Without a glance toward you and they are gone. The lingering sounds of colour are the only things left in their wake.

As it passes, it leaves you with one thing. Longing of what could be, what is, what is not. I give them names. How? Why? You ask yourself. How did they come to this place and time? Together as one. You want this so badly. You shake with need to be like John and Jane. But you stop and look around. You are alone, moving through the world, insignificant. Nothing more than a sliver of humanity occupying time and space, yet at the same time nothingness.

Once again, the world poised on your lips is why. Why not me? You recount choices. So many choices that have brought you to this point. Point and counterpoint. Nothing more than a pawn. Moved around at the expense of man, woman.

Hands intertwined. A beautiful thing. Like a Celtic knot, intertwined to infinity. The beginning indecipherable from the end. This is what we strive for. That symmetrical beauty. You see it and it brings tears to you eyes, the sheer power of the symbol.

You keep walking forward, past the colour contrails. You walk into the future holding that image in your head, in your heart. The feeling of longing never leaves, never abates. You weigh and measure your choices so you can be more like them, the ones you never forget. You want to feel the power of that everlasting knot, to bend and sway as one. You want to be a part of that. The power of oneness.


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