this moment

There is no other moment but now. This is no cliche or easy affirmation. This is the only reality, and the only perspective that has made the last several days possible. It doesn't mean, the only moment that matters is now. It is the chosen opinion that no other moment than this one actually exists. It is either my furthest progress yet toward detached, waking presence, or the clearest concession to soul's absolute necessity. No intention to be owned but the sheer will to survive the meantime. I'm either close to enlightenment or close to weighing nothing at all.

Sure, this moment touches other things. Or perhaps other things touch it, as it hovers in its singular completeness. They might be other people's nows, or next moments or previous moments. Even though, at times, they feel familiar enough to be mine. They might be alternate dimensions, each contained and glowing, its own perfect untouchable moment. Maybe they're my alternate moments, or maybe others' that they discarded, or didn't see in time to choose. But for whatever known or unknown reason, we embarked on the one in which we now ride. They might be what are often called "memories", of this life or of the many other lives contained within it. But these, too, drift through air and ether and find their way into moments even they didn't expect, and cannot be owned, only acknowledged. That might be my memory; it might be someone else's. It might be just a sigh and a wish of time itself, for a moment that never happened. Or never happened yet.

I tell myself that so many things in this moment cannot be explained, and these not-quite-connections must also be accepted, without the satisfaction the mind might seek about their origin. Moving past, and allowing them to move on their languid way around the timespace we all seem to cohabit. Courteously, gracefully, like negotiating a crowded room at a fancy party, wearing spike heels and carrying a crystal flute of champagne in one hand. How would I know about such moments. Courteously, gracefully, like negotiating a crowded living room at a house party, carrying seven pizzas and twenty pounds of soda pop, holding my balance between careening kids and spinning beer bottles. Yes, I do know about such things. And about the impossible series of moments that intersect, and sometimes collide, in these rooms. But none of them are mine - not the family, not the house, not the party, not the kids, not the beer. Only the balance, and the job that I have to do. And hopefully, the courtesy and the grace. And I want to say that I may not have to maintain all these things for much longer, but who knows: there is only this moment.