Life is a matter of moments. Sometimes, we do not feel them: they bond together in easy succession, and whole years can pass without our really sensing the fragility of our own composition, which is momentary. The common people say “life slips by”, and they are right in their idiom. We grow negligent of the basis of our own being, and our vigilance becomes diluted.

But what could be more vulnerable than a moment? What more nude and exposed, incapable of defending itself? A moment happens, and is gone. Their little towers are being endlessly invaded, and thrown down; and with them, our lives.

Only when an unusual moment occurs do we sense the profoundly momentary nature of our being. Then, the moment surges into prominence: what had seemed so stable and secure – our life – is instantly revealed to hang upon a moment. There is a moment in our heart; our thoughts are moments; and if we kiss, our kisses are stained with moments. Only at moments of excitation or violence, of rupture, or of extreme boredom, does the moment announce itself vividly inside us. And then our life is thrown open for the dust or vision to enter us. It only takes a moment to live; and only a moment to die.


From Comb | Volume 8 of Dustless

Be great first…

•DUSTLESS-FIN8

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