Onlooking

There are moments when things are very clear from a certain perspective, a point of view grounded in time and place. And suddenly, this point of view can diametrically shift and I can see, just as clearly, things from a polar opposite perspective.

And, at times, I can inhabit both of these at once, in my Schrodinger's-cat-mind.

And, at times, I can jump between the two, nervously, never able to stand still and live in both at the same time.

And, at times, there are many perspectives I am aware of, and others only dim in the shadows; not quite inhabitable, but still not wave-of-the-hand dismissable illusions, either.

...

And,

there is a poem written about a road diverging in the woods, and about never being able to return. And yet, at times, I think that life is more like a pool of water, shifting and reshaping, refracting the view every time I turn to look.

And, at times, I lift my head only to see what I had been looking for flicker out of view. Perhaps it will return. Probably when I am least expecting it.