the fundament of existence arises, unconditional, absolute; Life is not an argument or abstract ideal, not a puzzle to be solved, not even a sequence of choices. It is finality, a line without revision, the single mark of ink that will never be erased. Each pulse of thumping blood is a declarative sentence in the language of the body. This moment, sharp edged, dazzling, will not be here long, will not be here again, ever. This is not a threat but grace. Seconds blaze and collapse, each one dying as it is born. Here is now-here and in it the past is a desiccated animal, the future a rumour. Life exists, not nowhere, not as a ghost slipping between the walls, but here, anchored. One is not alone, always its own company, present, not absent, a miracle…

© KD.W.Heim