[audio http://198.199.93.193:4000/Moments.m4a ]

Not walking, but floating, the cloaked figure moves with enchanting solemnity. So majestic; so controlled. Granted this land were not vacant, any onlooking souls, be there even the faintest goodness in their hearts, would be lifted, simply from the blessed purity in this figure’s heart alone, in but an instant from consciousness’ grasp, and elevated to a higher state of equilibrium and virtue than even the divine can achieve. It is a state in which all aspirations dissolve, all knots untie. Transcendence.

But after the knots disengage, what remains? Few worldly forms could represent this disentangled, untroubled beauty, for what shape could possibly capture the ethereality so inherent in this intricate spirit? Although this essence is far beyond the comprehension of a mortal, the line and the circle are both elegant candidates of natural origin. And how different is their conception of eternity! As time continues, the linearity end draws further and further from its beginning, while a circular conclusion is forever linked to its start.

Ever closer does the figure near, and with this proximity brings the brilliance of his beaming eyes. So white do they shine that our illustrious snowflakes, even in their absolute prime, are eclipsed by comparison. My how fickle must you be dear relativity? For if one’s memory is accurate, one will recall that it was the snowflakes that outshone the trees not but moments ago. And surely if one were to now gaze upon the falling snow independent of our new visitor, they would dazzle, just as before. But as the figure continues on, the shaky hands of juxtaposition tuck the snowflakes into the blanket of their dim siblings, resting rightly now under gnarled wing, with nothing more to be heard from the dazzlers of past than a near-imperceptible sigh. Once again the torch is passed.

What can now be seen quite distinctly is a curious object clasped in his right hand: a small padlock. Of course there is nothing strange about a padlock ordinarily, but this is no ordinary land. Why would he ever bring such an object to this domain? With it held gently in his hands, the figure almost becomes maternal, protective, seeming to take even greater care in his stride than before. It is clear that this is no common object. No, this is an artifact of prophetic importance.

After walking for hours, losing his delicacy and diligence not even for a moment, he reaches an all-enveloping light that emanates radiantly between two snow-covered walls that have been growing steadily on the sides of the robed figure for some time. Looking down at the padlock with both wonder and reverence, At last, he thinks, I have made it.

robed

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