The Elusive

Time Elusive

I erred. Everybody does.

Even the great one did so when he proposed his infamous cosmological constant. He must have had something.  Not in his mind- for his mind in all its greatness provided us with the greatest theory of the century- but something probably deep within his belly, something that he simply could not explain, a gutsy feeling that something was just amiss, a foreboding idea that the universe should, and needed to be, in constant equilibrium.

It was as if everything in the universe was forever unchanging. But it was not so, no.

Nothing in the known universe ever was static. Everything moves according to its own spin, its own vibration, and maybe, its own cosmic instinct, if there ever was such a thing.

I erred. Every time.

I always thought that my cosmic destiny would be governed by the densities of matter that I surrounded myself with, in an infinite amount of space, in an infinite amount of time. I tried to stay close to the clumps of primordial gases that seem to emanate from the off-center of my inner galaxy and away from the confines of the black hole that was always bent on sucking me in.

Now it seems it is now going through the whims of the dark energy, who’s hell bent on stretching all of my atomic states into distant echoes of nothingness, in the vast emptiness of space.

Except that space itself is and never was empty. It is filled with exotic matter most are not known to men. Starstuff that stretches across the known confines of the universe, and stretches across any given time.

And all my time I have spent trying to discover these exotic of exotics, searching over those realms of realms, I was just trying to find my perfect place, my perfect bearing in these often conflicting masses and competing energies. As best as I could, I tried to make a sense of order in this otherwise chaotic lump of a universe.

It’s now coming to 2014. While I had been to a quite number of galaxies all far and distant, and had traveled for quite sometime, I still can’t seem to find that elusive personal cosmological constant.

I did, however, in one of those travels, found my true north. And while finding it cost me more than what I can afford, all of them are now echoes of a distant turbulent beginning known as the Big Bang. What remains now are the smooth confines of inter-stellar space where one maybe able to glide over the horizons and watch several competing sunsets over a tall non-fat galactic espresso.

Still, I feel like I am getting closer to my own, without ever finding it. And all this time, time itself is closing in. And with my bad habit of constantly buying them, they now seem to be running out on me.

And however might I try to buy some still, I don’t think I could afford it.

Not anymore.

Slip Sliding Away
Dreams of Ma

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