By: Zinta Aistars The time is now: this moment, this blink of an eye. All changes, all breathes, all life swallows its own core and is reformed. Each cell regenerates, every heartbeat leads to another to flush lifeblood through veins that snake through a body each day reborn. A hatching thought, epiphany - burst of bright, inflaming an idea to burn the torch of mind, this place where life begins: not seeded in flesh or womb, but in grooves and coiled fist of thoughts. The creator in all of us, semblance of divinity, creator giving creation a legacy to light the candle beneath its cover - lux esto - burn bright, be light, creator and creation both - oyster and its pearl. Touch the cool waters and know your powers. Illumine pathways, blaze the trails, mold the clay, claim the life steaming inside your soul. By: Zinta Aistars On this dry and barren moonscape, pitted and crumbling, tattered and sharp, ribbons of lavender and stripes of wine leading the eye from jut to jut, a skittering nugget of pale yellow mud marks its path from a summit in tentative crawl into sudden mad rush, to catch on a pebble, once again fall - tear of dust dripping from the chin of a mountain into the abyss, the rippling bleached ribs of the Badlands. In the vacant air, no one hears, no one notices the rasp of a bored tumbleweed, sway in its imagined breeze, loosen, break free, tumble after the grains of scattered dust - a thousand silent snake eyes, thirsty prairie dogs color of sand popping like corks from their dens to watch the drunken courage of a tumbleweed's waltz. By: Zinta Aistars Gathering to bask in those final fading rays, walking on sun-burnished gold, the sand a gilded sheen beneath our feet, waves a whisper that hum the evening into ultimate night - Why can we not approach our own numbered days with this kind of golden silence? Hearts at rest, content, pleased with our labors, carried by the gold of days lived and lived well: Time cultivated with gentle hands, homage given to the gods in us all, demons acknowledged but not spared the polish of lesson learned and applied. These ephemeral days that we lavish in such waste - gather them, gather with speed, arms filled and eyes brimming with gratitude. Last call, last bell, final blessing, the saving alarm: this is now, the glimpse of time, the wink, the only one that counts, the single moment that changes everything. |