Time exists

The panic strikes while he’s standing next to the bride, lands jittery into his knees, and sticks the words into his throat. The vase with fresh white cal lilies to the left animates his mental turmoil; the Priest’s robe pulls the final curtain on the eleventh hour.  

Unlooked-for between the dense ferns and the beams of light he sees the hidden road leading to where the mountain crowns. This natural elevation of earth’s surface creates natural distance between the everyday life of villagers and their dwelling on what is right or what went wrong. He has to abrogate and reach a decision before the informed decision is made on his behalf. The fear of growing old, foolish and trapped, countermands freedom, but is freedom what he thinks it is?

Legend unfolds as he continues the long hard climb to the top where the makeshift shelter is located on the crown and only accessible for those hankering after a universal truth.    Many former took refuge from life and now pass him on their downhill, holding onto life changing endowments. Trying his very best to keep an eye to the future he cannot help but to spontaneous squints as the crown illumine his tryst with destiny.  

To the right is a woman and to the left a man, guarding the entrance. He recognizes in both traits that are habitual and although their demeanor are unconstrained a strong absence to commitment of the outcome is suggested.   At first his inclination is to trust in the man, but his final choice is for the woman who will lead him into the makeshift shelter when the predecessor holding onto a Persian carpet, vacates. True to legend the makeshift shelter harbours items from the four cardinal points of the compass and in between, adequate breathing vent the nothingness as ongoing emotions graffiti in the heartbeats of mankind.

The desk has a pen and bottle for ink, blank pages and behind this towers the huge old-fashioned clock that emits sharp recurring clicking sounds and claiming to check off tedious undertakings. Craftsmanship of grandfather’s clock is evident and if the mechanical energy might seize the hour will regardless continue to be. Time exists.

He reaches for the wedding band in his pocket with the great desire to buy time, but takes his act up for reconsideration, as this is a matter previously acted on by convention. First they will be tied together, then the need for progeny will arise, as women are supposedly inclined to offspring with motherhood as men are supposed to furnish and supply. The thought of aggrandizing needs of the wife and juveniles, following the deadlines for completion, keeping up with the neighbors and the eight to five race to beat credit and inflation strips him from enthusiasm.

The wedding is $40 000 later and the rental apartment a disaster. With this he takes the clock, carries it like a deer over his shoulder and leaves the makeshift shelter behind.

On the altar are an opened book and a pen that draws lines in ink. (Names are neither the beginning nor the end.) This occurrence was an attack of desperation midst anticipation, a doubtful desire that somehow happened to take place in this hour.