Blind.Faith 2.0.50. Tomasz Tatum

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СКАЧАТЬ at all possible to succeed at astral traveling if one had to work as diligently at it as he was doing.

      So, as a kind of diversion, he would in such moments regularly resort to considering how it happened that the birds always managed to get to their roosting place without his ever once having noticed their movements.

      And, in a further exercise in distraction, he often tried imagining where they might have come from in the first place.

      In his mind’s eye, he sometimes actually briefly succeeded in becoming a detached observer to this avian spectacle. He would find himself watching intently as they stealthily amassed in the last fleeting light of the evening, diminutive shadows that hustled silently and quickly to and fro, through the soft, blue-black velvet blackening sky hanging on the peripheral fringes of twilight.

      This would be in those final few fluid minutes before the nocturnal sky assumed its deep impenetrable luster and all life, almost conspiratively, seemed to grind to an uneasy halt. An almost deafening whisper would make itself noticeable in the first minutes of darkness before it too subsided, nearly unnoticeably at first, just like the mist that follows on the heels of an afternoon tropical downpour so often does.

      The birds would of course be resting during the night, perched high up in the uppermost branches of the trees, just as he, too, would be sleeping. But in truth, he suspected, these birds probably never really slept. They would instead be simply resting while collectively bearing mute witness to the constellations of the night, watching as the stars dotting the darkness of the heavens gradually revealed themselves and rotated patiently, bit by bit, to face the first soft hints of light spilling over the eastern horizon each morning. This grand assembly of birds formed a stoical congregation that united nightly in body and spirit, anticipating with a firm and quiet certainty the first tentative scattering of dawn that would soon yield to another day.

      A new day.

      Of course, Ch.ase couldn’t be absolutely certain, but he did actually suspect that birds were probably pretty stupid creatures. Back when he was a kid, he recalled having seen various depictions of their skulls and skeletons being directly correlated to those of a number of long-extinct dinosaurs, the implication being that this was irrefutable evidence that they were direct descendants of the great lizards. And obviously the knowledge that dinosaurs had the neurological equivalent of peanuts for brains certainly wasn’t restricted only to some elite handful of paleontologists. So Ch.ase reasoned that, to these birds, any new day would most likely be a day pretty much like yesterday. They might find themselves pecking for worms in the pouring rain again, pooping off high tension wires all day long or simply fretting about how to judiciously avoid being eaten by cats while going about their daily business.

      Eating, crapping and minding the food chain.

      Day in and day out.

      But to Ch.ase and all the other civilized beings on this worldmonde.Planet, matters were somewhat more complicated than this. Admittedly, there was also the eating, crapping and minding the food chain bit as well. But Ch.ase was dead certain that the birds didn’t give have a clue about yesterday anymore. And if they did, they certainly didn’t give a damn. For them, it was all about now and maybe a little bit about later. But Ch.ase felt that he was, like probably everyone else on the worldmonde.Planet, condemned to spending his days building bridges to traverse time. So, for all he knew, the new day today might well be one just like tomorrow could well also be. Or perhaps more like the day thereafter.

      Yes, it could actually turn out to be a prelude to the future.time. But, at the same time, it might equally well be another day exactly like yesterday was. Or, it wouldn’t surprise him, like the day prior to that. Today or tomorrow might present everyone with yet another unexpected opportunity to relive the irredeemable promises of the past.time over and over again.

      Or it might provide them with a convenient means to flee from it, providing them with a myriad of excuses to redefine their failings–or even better yet: those of others–if necessary.

      This likely happened more often than most people were willing to admit or perhaps more often than some people even realized. In fact, it was something that was always going on around him.

      His thoughts returned back to the birds.

      Beneath the shelter provided by the dense canopies of these trees, Ch.ase was dead certain the mornings exuded such intensity that already the sheer premonition of a new day’s arrival can be felt here with all the senses. Here, in this place and in this instant, the air actually takes on an ethereal quality, caressing and brushing the skin with its still cool moisture, enveloping the body in osmotic folds of silken breathiness. A fragrance of lusty, flowery freshness rolls through everything in these few minutes during which day and night teeter precipitously in each other’s arms, pushing forward like a bow wave which momentarily revitalizes everything and everyone with its distinct scent, familiar yet indescribable, not unlike that of an imminent summer rain relieving the senses of their feel of deprivation, of the same yearning that might characterize a drought.

      A drought that may have lasted anywhere from hours to years to an entire lifetime, all spent waiting for something like a warm, soft rain to fall.

      But the unfolding of morning is as unhurried as it is inevitable. In fact, before one realizes what is happening, it will already have progressed beyond that fleeting instant where one eagerly sees, hears, tastes, and feels its coming. In this transitory moment, the crescendo of the birds will suddenly lend it a voice with which the essence of the following hours can be briefly distilled into song.

      It is like a song that resonates as clearly as the vibration of a crystal, irrespective of what joy or sadness, pleasure or pain the day actually heralds.

      With each new morning, this cycle repeats itself and thereby simultaneously also reasserts its innocence. Morning for morning in the transient radiance of the early hours of dawn, it seems that the measure of things governing nature, and in fact the earth itself, is reset while one’s own clock continues to resolutely tick away some jumbled semblance of hours and minutes, beats and counter-beats. And once we have understood and accepted this, it becomes impossible, inconceivable even, to attribute any of the responsibility for whatever subsequently happens to anything other than the mere existence of some deep underlying tangle of failings, and sometimes even outright evil, that lies concealed deep within the twists and turns of the human soul.

      Not unlike the transgressions which will inevitably unfold somewhere today, with or without our own direct involvement, on this worldmonde.Planet.

      This instant of the dawning, then, could be viewed as the equivalent of an immaculate white virgin sheet of paper upon which the day’s protocol will be indelibly etched, very often in sweat and sometimes in blood.

      What irony, then, that this incorruptible record of the march of time then almost invariably disappears from our consciousness as new pages are being written, consigned into the rubbish bin of some collective amnesia. That little which ultimately survives in our scant understanding of humanity and human history is arguably nothing more than the dog-eared fragments of a grand narrative, sometimes treasured but almost always starved of its inner logic and substance by a simple non-malicious form of near-universal neglect.

      So it is that the break of day often represents to us only an instant before our awareness and our perceptions wander to other things that seem to matter more than that very instant we actually begin directing our attention to them. But it is this one briefest of moments, more than any other, which fleetingly bridges the future.time and the past.time. For many people, this day may offer a chance to find fault or give blame. For others, the advent of a new day will present them with some excuse to relive the past.time.

      And СКАЧАТЬ