The Mind in Flight

It is three o’clock in the morning.  I sit at my desk, the white screen of my monitor glaring at me defiantly, lost in the silence.

There are so few moments like these, when the world around me is sleeping and I am not;  when the eastern horizon is still black and the landborne stars of streetlights are my only witnesses.   At such times I am free – truly free – without the need of speech, without the relentless city burr, without the determination of the media to fill every pocket of the universe with lighted sound.   My mind can do the travelling, and it does.

Tonight, long after a septuagenarian such as I should be tucked up in bed with a memory of Horlicks, I can take flight.  A single thought occurs, maybe inspires?  It is this:

Somewhere at this precise moment, at this very second, a new life is coming into the world, taking a first breath.  At this same moment another is leaving,taking their last.  Somewhere in an impact far beyond my fluffy hearing an injury is changing a life irreparably, while in some other place someone who was told they would never walk again is taking a first step.

Out there is a young man nervous for his future, feeling the gentle touch of a hand on his which says he need not be afraid; while out there, too, a solitary tear is falling from the cheek of one who sees their life’s love broken.  A million games of win and lose are being played, a billion dice cast at this very second.   Now.   Again now.  And now.

To someone whose eyes behold the rope, the chair; who sought to drink into numbness the pain beyond forgetting, or to those on that lonely walk home from rejection, those smarting from their first rebuff, or out on the streets gripping the knife of revenge, I can say nothing.  I cannot ever know if you changed your mind.  I can neither comfort nor discourage you.

But you exist for me.   I have imagined you, or somehow reached out for you, in this moment; and that is the miracle of life we all should cherish.   This huge complexity of chance, and consequence, disaster and triumph, that in some sense we all may touch.   Now.  Again now; and now, until the end of time.

11 responses to “The Mind in Flight”

  1. I am more often than not, to be found staring at my computer Monitor at 3.00 am Septuagenarian or not I don’t seem to know when I should be abed snoring (or not). I have shared with you though an idea of the Universe unfolding with those checking in and those checking out, hoping that the latter are not alone and don’t lack the regret in the impending goodbye.
    I don’t have your capacity for allowing your thoughts to imagine revenge trawling the streets at night nor for imagining (or not) that there is someone to reach out to. To connect with., to touch on a repeatable cycle through the years. Your night touches you in a different way than mine does me. It recognises your sensitivity while mine just addresses my ignorance, my lack of empathy, my emptiness.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Oh, I don’t like that last sentence! Though each of us are touched by life in different ways I’ve read enough of your posts down the years to be absolutely certain that no-one could accuse you of a lack of empathy or sensitivity, and although we may not always agree about certain things I know the arguments you promulgate will be informed and interesting, so the ignorance thing doesn’t wash, either.
      I just cut and pasted this piece from notes I made in the wee small hours. The thoughts were spontaneous. I AM constantly amazed by the workings of the universe. I think I am helped by my absolute atheism here. I do not, at the conclusion of my physical existence, expect any ascent to glory, nor do I have any compunction to ‘live every moment’, I see myself for what I am, a creature playing a minor part in a vast production, strutting and sweating my hour. Believe it or not, I find that elevating, in spite of the gathering cloud of imperfections that accompany the combination of congestive heart failure and old age. It’s a paradox I can’t otherwise account for. Unless it’s the Aloe Vera! Hugs

      Liked by 2 people

      1. A creature in a vast production, maybe. But never paying a minor part. Your writings affect so many others. Not having a belief in the two after-death options I can’t suggest you’ll have earned a higher place in some fictional hierarchy for your affect on others but it should be so. You lift, you drop, you determine the direction of. I’m glad what you do is elevating.

        Liked by 1 person

        1. Well, what can I say? Thank you, David. I know many, many people enjoy your wisdom too/

          Liked by 1 person

  2. I don’t know what to say except that was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever read. Thank you.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. And thank you for responding; it means a lot to me, knowing I have found a chord somewhere. Thanks back at’ya!


    1. Thank you! Late summer nights are the time for ghosts!

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Truly touching, my creative buddy. I feel your connection. ❤ xXx

    Liked by 2 people

  4. I loved this post. It was both touching and human and real. It made me think how we are all connected in some way and that your 3 o’clock in the morning is someone else’s 3 o’clock in the afternoon. The universe is so diverse and each one of us plays our small but significant role in it. As I write this it is 8:30 am and I am beginning my day with some plans but certainly there will be other unplanned directions to guide me along. Thank you for reminding me of the fragility of life and to pay attention!

    Liked by 1 person

  5. I’m sure I read somewhere (without pain of objective research) that in the world ten babies are born every second! It never ceases to be a wonder to me! Thank you for reading; I like the idea that some parts of your day will be unplanned – that’s exciting!


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