Head and over heels there is nothing like the past with which so many personages regale themselves, and others, with fine, fine detail and desire. Through the looking glass the kaleidescope of colors; of nectaring the heavens with one's very own lemonade stand, ice cubes and all comes to pass. The mind is supposed to be a terrible thing to waste and so science comes along to vote itself royal patronage. Yes, we are indeed quite deeply involved with the mirror, mirror handing on the wall. Looking and touching with such fine finesse who could not marvel at our luxurious demonstration of great and grand.
In between the pages of old lies the momentary pause of reflection. When the pages becomes blurred in their descent into a hell of one's own making where then is the pause of sanity, of quiet hesitation in the rush of oncoming traffic. Must there be no consequence?
In the ebb and flow of time, space and inherent 'rightness', all thought crosses the meridian of life, living and the pursuit of our very own free will. It's true, some people actually believe the fable.
I'm not trying to open your eyes since the idea of sleeping with them fully open is already far too appealing. Let's just say that where there is a circle of life there too rides the apocalyptic horsemen hell bent on achieving your fruition.
Is that supposed to be a reference to the horse you rode in on? I'm not sure since I wasn't really looking. Or was that paying attention? I forget, the difference always strikes me as being very odd and obtuse - certainly far enough away from truth to provide feedback that is for sure.
And so as the tea for thought reaches it's last drop the wait ensues while the cup remains quite empty and devoid of happenings.
Perhaps you would wish for the leaves to provide a pointing finger?