NaNoWriMo 2022, Fling Fifteen

This moment is all that exists.

In this moment, there are things (what are “things”?) that … that what?

That claim to be memories of past times.

But what is a “thing” that it can “claim” claims?

There are plans, there are expectations, there are worries.

In this moment, which is all that exists.

Let go, put down the burden, know that all else, time and change and otherness, are illusions.

But what is an “illusion”?

The body is, and this moment and everything about it is, regardless of the words we use.

What does it mean, if some of what is, in this moment, is pain? Is pain, and danger, and the possibility of death?

What is death? Is death an illusion?

The body does not believe that death is an illusion. The body is focused on the possibility of death, on the feeling of pain, on the absence of pain. Whatever words I might use, pain is what it is. Even if pain is not “pain”, even if the word cannot reach it, it is still pain, it is still what it is.

Here is the sound of breathing. Here is the sound of practical shoes on polished floors. Here is the smell of disinfectant, of medicinal powder, of lubricant and nitrile, of smooth electronics encased in smooth plastic, rolling on smooth wheels. The sound of quiet rhythmic beeps, and of louder more strident ones. Whispers and tension.

Here is a waiting room. What is it to “wait”? What is a “room”? Asking these questions changes nothing. This is this, whatever questions we ask and whatever answers we give or we reject with words.

Time is an illusion, change is an illusion. Here is the memory of a message arriving, here is the memory of emotion, of heightened awareness, of clasped hands and tears and hugs.

Here is the memory of seeing a still form on a gurney, and then not seeing them.

All of this exists in this moment, all else is illusion.

But this means nothing; the body is just as concerned about the lessons and traumas of the past, the dangers and anticipation of the future, as it is about this moment. If this moment “exists”, and the past and future are “illusions”, then the body does not care about existence and illusion.

A minute passes.

Nothing changes.

Everything changes.

The hands of the clock move; all that this can mean is that the hands of the clock have a particular property right now (in this moment, which is all that exists), and that there exists also a memory, a memory of the hands of the clock having a different property, a memory which is (what?) labeled, marked, remembered, as being recent, but not current.

Nothing has changed, because in this moment there are things that are unknown, and there are in this moment memories in which those same things are also unknown.

Another moment, and still nothing has changed.

We expect that, when a future moment becomes this moment (what could that mean?), we will know. At that moment, we will have a memory of this moment, and not knowing, but at that moment we will know. A nurse will come out from the NO ADMITTANCE doors and talk to us, and we will know.

We will know if our friend is alive or dead, and if we will ever see him smile again.

Fling Sixteen

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