The Way Things Work | Tomorrow

 Tomorrow, in spite of all that is holy, the manifestation of today, regardless of whether we know it or not, is spawned from our weary minds. Thrust into the ether, caught by the down draft or a jet stream, a cold front or other meteorological phenomenon, the thoughts are given shape, like rain drops, vacuum sealed into the clouds. When the worries, concerns, hopes, fears, anecdotes, and wishes get too heavy, they burst the hermetically sealed cloud of mental murmurings to cascade upon us in the form of tomorrow, today. Isn't there a moment of solitude? A moment when the mind frees itself of the undying churning, the revolution of the cosmic washing machine, pauses itself and gives way to pure silence; snow blanketed fields untouched. 

Seldom do these moments materialize. Because the materialization, in and of itself is the deafening vacuum that is space. So silent it bursts ear drums and cracks window panes. In the fissures are trapped our screams and yells, sealed into a molten caste of subatomic particles that evaporate over time like the specks of sand they were spawned from. A more perfect cyclical event never occurred. Many other semi-perfect or semi-precious events have been played out like the wobbling of a projector's tilt-a-whirl revolutions, tumbled by sprockets and gears, motors and engines, combustible objects that fritter and quake before erupting in a gasp of primordial stew.  

But these imperfect renderings are the lowly day of those stuck in the rote and mindless game of spiraling towards the great and vast middle. Outside of us, if we were to really see it, really envision it, really conceptualize it, really smolder in it, really believe it, really embody it...outside of us, there is a greater us, a mimicked flicker of glass shards that combined form a crystal, smokey at it's core, but wholly natural and reoccurring over time upon itself. When the rains of time splinter it's tiny micro-cracks, and invade the precious space that is void; when the sun is just right, beaming out of the clouds, around the clouds, hazing the sky with a barely perceptible rainbow is here, when the tomorrow's and the today's are born together like some insignificant cross road that is made more significant by the second. When the crystalized moment becomes dawn and we realize that nothing is perfect and all is right with the world. Tomorrow becomes today. 


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