Aeon-istically speaking

A glass of Merlot,
a thousand plateaus
and
o
how
the speeds and slownesses
flow in-and-out
of this particular day

"We are all five o'clock in the evening, or another hour,
or rather two hours simultaneoulsy, the optimal and the
pessimal, noon-midnight, but distributed in a variable
fashion. The plane of consistency contains only
haecceities, along intersecting lines." (ATP)

After a happily productive work day, then the drive home.
Same route, following a familiar, two-lane road.
Ribboning one local township into another.
Its gradual descent into a lake.
A wonderful drive late at night; all those lights
advancing the vista by twists and turns.

At one spot, the road dips under a small bridge.
Lined by a beautifully-old stone wall.
And just beyond, the road snakes back up a steep hill.
But in between, a very tight curve. Like an S.
At its lowest point, one cannot see oncoming traffic.
It is sharp-to-the-left-and-back-up.

Today, at the dip-just-under-the-bridge,
I faced a gelatin transport truck
wobbling from side to side in its slide towards me.
Enormously misplaced while stretching the curve.
Wandering into my lane on a pinball course.
Leaving no room to manouver (except into the wall).
But at the last possible moment, the driver corrected
his line and passed by mere inches.

Having had near-accidents before
in a glide across snow, I know that moment.
Just before any impending crash,
the air smells seamlessly surreal.
Time quickens and slows allatonce.
Adrenalin thickens every desire.
Thrusting one's force
towards meaningful-moments-about-to-be-lost
and into the fear of diminished survival.
Or into the slam of no state at all.

But today was marked by a different moon.
Time typically slowed faster. Just like before.
But untypically, cradled no sense of panic.
My grip on the wheel was still just as strong.
But instead of riding the tideoftherush
towards anything lost, I sensed a strange kind of peace
as the truck filled the glass like a growing balloon.
A blanket that bleached a dip in the road
on a good day to go.

There was nothing to fear since the bridge would remain.
To float in the shiver of one perfect fall.
But like arms realigning an inside-out sleeve,
we squeezed through the space of two shrieking horns.
And then I was back in the seat of an upward climb.
Untwisting time into vanishing lines.

D&G say it best.

"Aeon: the indefinate time of the event, the floating line
that knows only speeds and continually divides that
which transpires into an already-there that is at
the same time not-yet-here, a simultaneous too-late
and too-early, a something that is both going to happen and has just happened." (ATP)

If there are parallel universes,
today I almost crashed
into one.


I don't think
about death
as often as fear.

Perhaps the test lies
somewhere between
faith and a tear.