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  • Love is itself unmoving,
    Only the cause and end of movement,
    Timeless, and undesiring
    Except in the aspect of time
    Caught in the form of limitation
    Between un-being and being.

    (T.S. Eliot. From Burnt Norton)

    I am drifting further and further out to sea.

    The land slips away, slips away

    now only a charcoal smudge against the sunset sky

    as I drift into blue twilight

    without compass, carried on tides

    which shift beneath the wind.

    I listen to the waves, slow but steady

    against the sides of my wooden boat,

    where the oars are restless, suspended.

    Having nothing to do, they ride the water

    in a lazy, abandoned kind of way

    firm in the oarlocks, but suspended in time.

    The land, the hills, the harbor, the small houses

    now only a thin pencil line, then nothing

    the lighthouse now almost invisible

    against the rising night, the night, the night.

    Even the clang of the buoys is a memory

    and the barking seals, so faint now, so far away.

    I have passed beyond desire and despair

    and moved into the kingdom of the pure mind.

    I drift further and further out to sea, waves slow and steady,

    now floating in circles, in a bowl of reflected stars

    a few gulls still following, like dark angels,

    as I fall into a sea-deep, dreamless sleep.

    (Photograph by AJN in "The Ferry," an installation by A.M. Radio, in the 3-D virtual world of Second Life: IDIA exhibition and installation sim for artists-in-residence Institute for DIgital Intermedia Arts at Ball State University.)
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