In the liminal space there is a roar in the ears,
and the consciousness races too loud, too fast
--maybe to drown out the unconscious.
It is as if one sees it all but knows it is fleeting--
too fast to grasp; it will be gone too soon,
And what one has seized from it will fade and dim
and haunt the soul.
One comes back too infrequently.
The moments are more precious each time as their
transience is known:
Lost in the very act of freezing the moment,
The moment of being alive.
Meeting the self that has been here before
--The moment of choice
when the heartbeat is felt in the arms and toes and gut--
The selves that chose without knowing they chose:
They are me again
united in the moment
between the gates.
I glimpse the truth
--the one we forget to live but must remember to be alive--
One huge heartbeat, shaking, alive.