Looking down at the perfect splash upon on my Red Slippers, the shoes on my elegant but damp feet, make me think of What Is Up There….
The square is silent, the light is falling, turning a mauve grey hue, a seeping crawling fog appears and that can mean only One Thing:
The space between the Warp and Weft of Time, Right Here, Right Now, is moving.
What on Earth is this space? And how does it move? They are surely but fixed points in Chaos….
Not at all: There is a Space that exists in both of these dimension where Time Folds, Hell Opens, The Divine Smiles, Babies are Born, Mothers Die and Monsters Move.
It is a dangerous time.
It is when we, those who know, who can see it and feel it, can dance on a crack in the psyche. We can rise up, fly, soar, spiral up, way up, into the light.
Or we can fall, slip, trip, dive & tumble directly into Hell itself. Hell Ourself.
That crack is the Ultimate Dance of bliss and horror. It is a Dance in the Wonderlands of The Universal Psyche. It can go either way. At any moment.
And the space between the Warp and Weft of Time, Right Here, Right Now, is moving.
The Dance has Begun.
My gaze lifts, slowly, carefully. I did not want to be seen to be Gazing Upon What Is Up There. That is not a Place to Be. There is no Being, no existence, in that maw of a Gaze, there is only the emptiest, blackest, howling space.
Once the eyes are open and The Beast is woken, all the light is slowly, almost , but not quite imperceptibly sucked from the sky, birds fall, dogs cower, cats slink into the darkest doorways and wait. Time has stopped, the weaver waits. All is empty, hollow, In The Balance. Ma’at holds her Feather just above your heart and……it can go either way.
I am careful, imperceptible, even, leaning forward on my Tippy Toes in the Tears, heart pounding, ears alert, mouth agape, slyly allowing my view to slide up, to slip slowly up a column to the tip of the lip of the Warp and Weft of Time, Right Here, Right Now.
The eyes in the colonnades are all swivelled towards me: I can feel their piercing, squinting fury begin to singe the back of my coat, my elbow. The smell of the rising smoke daring me to take one last lean forward, to push my luck just one Teeny Tiny Tad further, and at that moment I lose my balance, I tip over and fall, hands first onto the black cobblestones. My elbows give way and the loud crack is the sound of my head on stone.
The dice was thrown the decision was made: Hell Opened and:
Now all the eyes smile, birds wheel and cry out, dogs howl, cats purr.
I am lost.