23 January

As the end of day, it closes, there is pause to understand what was thus accomplished in the hours few one had on hand. And when reality is seen for what it really is, little has passed of significance which justifies the time spent on moments which at first appeared necessary to the cause, but only served to blind.

And though this may seem harsh, and casting blame on all, there is no malice in the truth which encompasses time. For what is time, but measured memories past, of long ago. Little is there in their wake which affects one in the afterglow.

So worry none of precious moments. Leave all measurement behind, and focus on the subtler realms, and keep your peace within, sublime.

The fact is that it takes so little to truly do so much, and if one could leap mountains in a single bound in mind, and know it so, one would find that in a fraction of a second all sense would come to fore, and knowledge of a wider world would break from hidden door. And wisdom, like a running stream, would bring forth hidden troves of treasure waiting for a signal that the dawn anew was rising once again, the first, to greet us with a view magnificent, beyond belief, and fairer for the rain which had passed just moments earlier when all seemed lost, in vain.

So take this moment, of this minute, and reach for yonder star, and do with it just what you know will take you thus afar. And simple as this message seems, imagine then, in time, that each successive moment could be lived akin, in rhyme.

Then, all life would bristle and burst in light of day, and onward march an evolution, brilliant, without decay.