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Freeze Frames

("My head swam to see so many years below me, and yet within me, as if I were thousands of leagues in height." - Marcel Proust, "A la Recherche du Temps Perdu")

Simply this, suddenly this: sunshine shafting through the glass door at Tighnabruaich flaring into mozaic on the linoleum where an old laurel leaf stirs unaccountably between the shards of broken light.

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En ce moment le temps est perdu.

The light, the leaf are happening in the distant years below me - above me uncapped psalms of time and space coalign where all the, all the will be was and all the then is - only to fly through, fly out to force fields isotropic.

Unhurriedly I am.

Vector among time's leaves I wake into a vision as centuries no longer lost breathlessly open up before me and through... .

Or is it one lamellar moment uncupped in me into luminous, deathless beginnings... ?

On cherche toujours.

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