It Was Always There

A moment is held apart, eternity between it and the next,
time crystallized in an infinitesimal second, a frame.

In this interlude, you rest. Maybe for the first time.
Your breath catches when you close your eyes.
You are not alone. Something is moving in the void.
There is something else moving. You are not alone.

First, you feel it. Waves of pressure, indifferent,
painless. It is everywhere at once, but invisible.
It bears an authority that brings you to your knees.
The air is frozen, but the room is surging, vibrating.
Your skin crawls. Nothing can stop its approach.

Then, you hear it. Its sound is unmistakable—no man
or instrument of man could imitate it, even with intent.
It is music. It is more than music. It is purity. It is order.
It makes you want to cover your ears, but you can't.
A million voices, continuously being born and dying.
It is the sound of victory. It is the sound of memories.
Things we wanted to forget.

Now, you see it. You have stepped into a different universe,
or maybe it has stepped into yours. Here, walls are doors,
the ceiling is the sky, the pillars hold up the heavens.
The world twists like a screw, and above it, wheels.
Always one more than you count. They spin in both directions
at once. When you look directly at the thing,
you see through it, like stained glass.
Maybe it has eyes. Maybe it looks at you. Maybe through you.
The walls vibrate. The wheels spin. The eyes move.
It is not lawless, but patterned. You do not see the pattern,
but you know it is there. It must be. That is the nature of it.

It reaches out. It reaches out to you.
It has the privilege to speak through any number of tongues,
but it demeans itself to speak in yours: "Don't be afraid."
Why? You are on the ground, crying and retching and
screaming. "Don't be afraid." A whisper like the wind.

You look above it, beyond it. There, where the seams
of the cosmos meet, is a fountain. An infinite, eternal
fountain. Its water pours out into the thing in the wheels.
You begin to understand that this thing that reduced you
to such a sorry state is merely a slave. And then what are you?
You begin to understand that you have been seeing only part
of a whole, like looking into a dim mirror.

Reality stumbles forward again, the vision fades.
Somehow, you are at peace. Maybe for the first time.