Blessed are those both in and out of time.
Only in the moment is forever.
Nothing is an artifact of motion,
Nor can one live without that pseudo-notion
In which death is the end of all endeavor,
Each being being mortal and sublime.
Sing, then, of things both mortal and sublime,
Eternity within each tick of time,
The moment that gives grace to each endeavor,
Here within a now that lasts forever,
Even as we cannot grasp the notion,
Living as we do in constant motion.
In art one feels the shock that stops the motion,
Zealous to embody the sublime
And be oneself beyond all thought or notion,
Blessed by being in and out of time.
Each thing of beauty mirrors the forever
That lies within the moment, an endeavor
Harsh and holy, all one can endeavor.
Giving life to life beyond all motion
As one creates brief moments of forever,
Beauty breaking on the steep sublime,
Returning, turning to the sea of time,
In strokes of sound an ecstasy no notion
Encompasses, beyond all thought or notion,
Lingering long after each endeavor,
Accompaniment and antidote to time,
Needs one to need amid the swirl of motion,
Dancing on the shores of the sublime.
Know that all one's doing lasts forever,
Each act of love or passion lasts forever,
Not in time, nor of time, nor of notion,
Nor frozen in the vaults of the sublime --
All one does, each moment, each endeavor ...
Eight days the oil burned, a loss of motion
Long questioning the ubiquity of time.
Let the sublime light each mundane endeavor,
Each notion of the landscape of our motion,
Needing a forever within time.