Imagine a constant sun directly overhead.

Unmoving, neither rising nor setting, no respite from heat and no escape from being burned.

 

Or a still sunset.

Beautiful but permanent, the beauty not quite beautiful because this is the only way it has ever existed.

 

Or a perennial darkness.

Cold and windy, no anticipated light, night never giving way to day.

 

Imagine a stillness to time that can only be disturbed by moving.

 

Our world is tidally locked.

The same side of it always faces the sun. This side is bright and hot.

The other dark, never seeing light.

 

It speaks in what we know as music.

In pregnant silences and intelligent symphonies.

It is alive, performing by being.

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Imagine being a traveler in this world.

A traveler for whom time waits.

A traveler who can move time.

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We do not belong here.

Here, we are peculiar, perhaps even mystical.

The music changes with our every action.

Interested in us. Scared of us.

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Each region we pass is a harmonious, timeless microcosm.

Its awareness fading with distance.

Unaware of what lies beyond its blurry borders.

Unaware of how it sits within a larger structure.

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Is there a structure?

Or are we meaning-making creatures?

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