It only exists right now.
It finds itself in a constant paradoxical flux between the only one
And the non-existent.
It's the infinite constant
And the never-present.
Until you can understand that it isn't something to be caught,
To be chased and displayed as a trophy on your death bed,
You will die a sorry man.
Because you won't be there to love it,
To be it, feel it, live it.
I've always found it hard to put it into words;
The obvious mystery of the here and now
And the torture of avoiding it.
Most people don't even realise it;
Their minds are cuddled by structure,
Fed by a sense of fitting in
That shouldn't have to be pursued.
We fit precisely in this moment.
There isn't another way to look at it.