Life passes. There is no wave, no conclusion, forward signal, or stop sign. The air is not quite immobile, not quite moving. Stillness prevails. But it isn’t peaceful stillness. There is a sense of stasis. It is, as if, there is a long pause between breathes. I don’t know if it is ‘in’ before ‘out,’ or ‘out’ before ‘in.’ But I know I’m in-between. Paused.
I can’t say what is happening. If, anything. The world hasn’t stopped, but things are happening in slow distant motion. Silently. As if, some kind of regulator was inhibiting the moment from proceeding. Awkwardness fills everything with pensive uncertainty.
It could be as obvious, as waiting for the new administration to take over on January 20th. I’ve never felt so much like a lame duck. Or, it could be like knowing an asteroid is headed this way, but isn’t here yet. Something is getting closer and closer. I can feel it in the stillness of the air, in the aimlessness of my life, in the suspension that permeates things, but I can’t name it.
My days hold a strange purposeless purpose. I am on pause, but I’m not sure why I’m on hold. The Sun, Moon, and Universe are all doing their thing, faithfully, so I am not worried about being at the end, it is more like some new beginning is about to start up. Yes, this is some sort of pregnant pause.
I don’t know about you, but I’ve never really been good at these moments. I don’t usually react well to being on hold, or anticipating. Limbo and I haven’t been good friends. So, you can imagine my uneasiness. The longer hold lasts, the greater my dismay. Walking on eggshells is play, compared to what I’m feeling now. I’d rather be struck by lightning, blasted into pieces, than endure this much uncertainty.
Having said all of that, helps convey the discomfort I feel in the midst of this prolonged pause. Maybe, its just me, I’m just making up being here. I’m already disrupted, between who I used to be, and who I’m about to become. Am I somehow not me, or some other me? I don’t know for sure. The moment has blinded my usually sure inner eye.
I feel something weighing on me, it isn’t some gravitational thing, it’s more like portent, throwing my rhythm into an uncoordinated mess — a halting, faltering, semi-collapse. I’ve been caught outside my oyster shell.
It might just be I’m getting older. Aging is disruptive, inconvenient — and is a pause that renews — but usually only in ultimate terms. I can’t fathom what I sense. My senses have been made dull in worldly ways, but certain inner faculties have sharpened, and these, lead me to notice the strange pause that is occurring. Maybe it is because I’m getting older, that I’m able to feel it.
In any case, I’m assailed by this sensation —while I’m on hold — something slinks towards us.
Something is poised.
