Arriving at the Departure
The jet silently sleeps outside in the crisp costal air. Its turbine does not turn or hum but remains motionless. I am inside, beneath the bay of glass windows waiting for the terminal to come alive. My head slowly descends towards my chest and as it contacts my sternum I jerk it backward completely into wakefulness. The once desolate and dead sky harbor is dripping with new arrivals waiting for departures. I realize now that there is a heartbeat in everything.
I mean this quite literally. Even in the darkest of silence there is a pulse. Nothing can exist without this bump and nothing does. A row from me a young girl strung out and strung up along the seats of the waiting area lays and she flinches from her fading fix. Her eyes are cracked and her tongue clicks against the side of her mouth. I have fallen asleep again, momentarily and the surroundings have come alive with people leaving and coming at the exact same time. I realize now that the only thing that is constant is not change but movement.
Forever immigrants floating in (trans)migration. Always moving even when we believe we are still. Revolutions and rotations infinitely rock and sway us. Inside the bent arms of our Mother(Nature)[Earth] we drift and are drifted like waves that will always tickle the land. Was there a time before movement? An initiation to infinite movement itself? Was it a push? Or a nudge? Was it a throw? Or a roll? I wonder who with temper or with content set all of this in motion. If it was God, did it cast us out into the infinite out of love because stillness is not for children because it is like a child who out of immense love and not knowing any better holds his pet rabbit too tight that the pour creatures tiny lungs cant expand to catch its breath and under the weight of this love its neck breaks or was it out of disgust and banishment and we were only saved from cascading off into the darkness of forever by a burning star who took us in and swings us around like a lover on a dance floor?
A man in the front pulls up and at this exact moment woman, dirt, concrete, entirety pulls and clings at the soles of my feet trying to hold me and bring me back down. Above I skip through the vastness of cloud cover. High above I shake and rattle. Turbulence twists and turns already dehydrated twitching nerves around like nooses, nooses that choke synapse that collapse and cause my mispellings. I have passed 24 hours of wakefulness well into 27-ish. Time zones have changed my clocks and general sense of direction. Movement so constant that the minute hands can’t keep up. Below me is all and above is everything and I am caught somewhere in the middle. My god, it is an eternity. Delirium has settled into the smallest bones. 7 more full revolutions of the big hand until I can lay in a lovers arms. It feels like, my lord, an eternity, waiting for thee. Those black hands orbit the face but they are revolving slower than the estate beneath me. Pebbles, each pebble of the hour glass carries weight on my eye lids, on my thoughts and shoulders and I have become Atlas and in mid-lunge, driven down by the heaviness of it all collapsing to one knee, shrug to retain my balance.
I, an immigrant, hold up everything. Everything that is always evermore swaying and swayed, floating and drifting. It is only in the complete stillness of all, in the silence of everything, that I can know and hear the heartbeat of infinity.
