Night and the ancients retreat to a dark corner of their celestial prison from the promised arrival of the yellow dwarf from which they know we demand a presence.
We ignore the ancients now, ignore those who cast them into their prison, ignore the acts for which they were banished, care only to name them, and they know that our recognition is their only grasp on existence.
Each day their tiny cousin demands our full attention, defies us to look deeply at him, pleased that he is, for us, the center of our universe.
It is incredibly sad when all you have seen is Paris from a taxi hurtling toward the center of the city, because you are late for a meeting, and then your view out of the conference room window is another glass building which, if you lean your head far enough right gives you the reflection of the Eiffel Tower.
As the meeting drags on you realize you must pay attention as another taxi speeds you to the Charles DeGaulle airport Hilton for a dinner meeting and sleep before your 6 A.M. flight to Zurich, and you begin to think that Paris and New York arent all that different from the back seat of a taxi.
I will, or may see something today that may surprise me. It may reveal itself in aquiet moment, it may be nothing more than a fleeting thought or an image, I am certain. It won’t be brought by Magi nor even magic, though on reflection, it may seem somehow magical. I suspect most will miss its occurrence.
So I will sit and stare into the wall, into my heart, into the universe, trying to find something which is nothing, which is the center, which is everything.