In the quiet pale moonlight, an unspoken whisper rose up to greet me. The grey clouds moved effortlessly across the sky—fleeting—embracing the moon, cloaking it in a vale of darkness. A soft rustling of autumn leaves, blew carelessly in the wind, awaiting the perfect moment to fall to the ground. They crunched underfoot offering little resistance to my movement. The path was narrow and well worn, many had walked it before me and many would walk it after I had moved on. The Earth called out in the chirps of the crickets to me, while the night songs were sung by numerous unseen choirs. A seasons song, the passing of time, of hibernal snows and winter winds, wicked tempests of icy cold, whipping away at my delicate and ephemeral flesh, soon enough I thought to myself, will it return—and I would be there to embrace it. I thought to myself: I forgot what it was like to be dead, does one have to live to experience death? What was I before? What comes after? I quickened my pace now, the soles of my feet making soft contact with the lush and cool grasses that tickled my bare skin. The moon beamed at me, it did not answer my questions—silent and foreboding it was.
A large boulder rose to greet me in the shadows of a large oak, brought here from a far away place, sheets of ice, crushing, grinding, pushing it from its mountain top to this humble valley. What beauty the world holds, each imperfect piece, a dazzling array of patterns and forms, but all so temporary and fleeting. I thought: what history does this boulder have, what stories does it tell? Its grains like the endless stars of the universe, twinkling softly in the pale light of the moon, innumerable and unique, as we met I let a hand softly graze its coarse structure. It was cold and dead to the touch, but did it not still feel, did it not change through it’s immemorial ages? It was born from the fiery Hadean ages, tempests of volcanic fury, a youthful and vibrant churning. She was young then, filled with an immaculate beauty, conceived from the stars, she coalesced in time, gave shelter to ancestors long forgotten and gone. They returned to the ground and sea from which they came, nourishing her children with their decaying forms. A gentle sadness came over me, at the harsh reality of our shared impermanence, a constant flux, of never ending change. Each form a transient and passing flow, some gone before I could ever appreciate their intrinsic particular and unique beauty. One could not hold on to anything, the second we reach our hand out, it has already left us, this is our curse (or is it our blessing?).
My brisk walk slowed, a small brook was before me. An almost imperceptible sound rose from it, quiet and gentle bubbling, it’s harmonies rising up to me. The ancient white cedars stood quietly guarding the swamp, how long had they valiantly stood watch? I could see the slow meandering movements of the brook trout, basking in the moonlight and the cold nourishing waters. They were returning to their birth place to spawn, a new generation of children would soon make an appearance, how many would survive and multiply? The cycle weighed heavy upon me, how long had they done this? Was I not also trapped within a similar prison? I felt the fabric that tied us together, we were cut from the same cloth, ancient relatives, we had the same mother and father, distant relations in a world so different but just as well similar to this one. Would my children one day gaze upon such a scene? Or would it likewise end, be replaced, renewed, and reimagined? The cycle would always move, neither forward or backwards, it could not cease. Perhaps in a time that could not be conceived or counted I would be here again? Perhaps I had been here before, an infinite cycle of becoming and unbecoming. The movement and flow brought great sadness but it also brought an appreciation for such perfect beauty, I was in awe of it, as I felt the entirety of the universe’s weight upon my fragile form.
As I reached no destination in particular I thought to myself:
“That beauty is to be celebrated, though it will ultimately perish.”
The stars gazed at me and I gazed back at them. The clouds returned to cloak the moon and darkness descended upon the valley once again.
I kept moving, wandering . . .
The Rebel's Dark Laughter 