We are vibrations and swirlings in the mists of time.
The slow, tender tickling of presence.
If we slow down enough.
The crackling energy that can exist between two people.
Unseen, yet pulling them together or forcing them apart.
Enlivening each, or deadening each.
The unfathomable power of a conversation.
Of which words are only one part, perhaps only a small part.
And of which presence is another, perhaps a larger part.
What is alive in this moment?
If we slow down enough.
That unimagineable, intangible, unquestionable change that comes over us, as something happens.
Alive, in the moment.
Alone, or with someone.
The flows that pull us along, in and out of each other’s lives.
And mean that in this moment, I speak to you.
And next, I speak to you.
And you don’t know each other, and never will. And will never know that your energy passed to each other, through me.
And then on, through me and each other, and out into the world.
And so it changes.
The unfathomable interactions, across space and time.
The email newsletter, read weeks after it was sent, rippling into conversations and thoughts.
The conversation listened to or watched.
And the energy is created and shared and moved.
Each leaf blowing in the breeze, captured in my eye.
Each fly, buzzing in my vision, captured in my eye.
A part of me, now. And forever.
A part of every interaction from now on.
And if the wind ceases to blow?
And if the fly flies a different way?
Then the world changes.
And so we have the chance to be that.
To be the wind, or the fly.
The change the world.
Or do we?
Why does the wind cease to blow?
Why does the fly fly a different way?
What captured the fly’s eye?
What energy passed to the wind, so that it blows, and from where did it come?
Perhaps it came from a phone conversation on a Friday morning in Warwickshire, in England.
From your energy transferring to yours, through me, and on, and on, and on, and on.
How would we ever know?
We are leaves in the breeze.
We are flies, swirling through eyelines.
We are vibrations and swirlings in the mists of time.
We are what we are.
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This is the latest in a series of articles written using the 12-Minute Method: write for twelve minutes, proof read once with tiny edits and then post online.
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