Harnett-Hargrove

 RoM 07 - #3/9 The Wrong Side of the Road

I had stayed too long enough, and the sky was filling as I pulled the stolen’67 rambler wagon out from under the Pink Teacup. As if afraid of the first morning light,  the neon flickered and died looking like the bones of not what something is, but what it could be. 

With that turn out and down the wrong side of the road, the trip began begging mystery.

The bumper headed in one of  the ten directions. Each were all the same, a spinning compass one way or another; toward the snow, hurricane, or drought. Somewhere someone is falling from the sky, making a box lunch, hanging from a cliff, opening a brown package. All situations are neutral. I am crawling toward it all, waiting for the universe to implode into itself and return to the state of emptiness — where time, space and matter are nonexistent. The great simple vibrationless original void. Not a spacial emptiness exactly, but the un-manifested creative capacity. Light and sound will again follow and existence will arise. And back into that non, creation will eventually fade. Quite a simple cycle.

Each moment has an end, and bumps into the next new moment causing the scalar wave to ripple on. Anyway that’s what I felt as I drove away from that single pointed universe. Sort of like.

Today I have given up on finishing my to-do work.