The fast-flapping moth, some shade of gray, suddenly appears against the darkness of the open door, enters against your will, flies with such intent and flippant purpose directly, in its haphazard way, to the open flame of your candle, then catches a dusty wing, or dives in head first, leaving no time to feel approaching heat, leaving only the slightest wisp of smoke behind as it falls fast to the table, a shocking change of direction, fluttering helplessly there in the slowly solidifying pool of wax, soon to be frozen in its fiery death.
One glance out the open door and you saw the emergence and fulfillment of a single-minded charge towards self-destruction. Why are beings ever drawn, blindly, blindingly, towards that light in the dark? Will we ever realize it is too bright for us? Yes: that is what draws us to it. But will we ever understand some things you can’t take back, some things begin and end within one careless blink of your eyes. No turning back. Understand this: the endlessness of a single moment, the finality of a single moment, this contradiction found only in the depth of death.
When you take that second to notice lamplight reflections on a wet road, the perfect ripples on still water, the perfect space between, un-touched dew making the green of the grass pale in dawn’s light, you can witness this depth. Before you blink and alter your gaze, catch your breath, because in those single moments the world could go on forever, but it can also end without reason, without realizing what it means to end. Stand there, jaw clenched, as a witness to the numb truth that the unknown is endless, but there is finality in endlessness, and that is what brings catastrophic confusion to the depthless deep.
marks in the sand 