The End of the Line
Things happen quickly. The combinations spin in accordance with our own personal desires. Send out an impulse, an option will rise. Echolocation of the brain to the physical manifestation of opportunity, to set in motion the happening. The specificity of the happening correlates to the clarity of the desire, of the impulse set in motion.
The strangest part of riding a train is the idea that your body is attached to that distant whistle, as it echoes ahead of the train and signals passage through the sparsely scattered towns that lay along the tracks. The whistle screeches and the carriages follow after it, rattling along, attached but separate, a fixed and continuous distance from the sound. Instead of sitting safely in one of those houses, sipping a cup of tea, observing for a moment as the train flashes past; you are flying past the houses, attached to the whistle, making your way. There are other faces on the train with you. They mind their own business, they talk amongst themselves. The pace of the train is slow, it takes time to get there. They fall asleep, hugging their briefcases, sprawled out in their seats. You sit at the window and your body is lulled by the motion of the train, the minuscule sideways rocking smoothly contained within the controlled forward velocity. Your mind wanders at the scenery flashing by, it eases its cognitive grip, it looses into something like a dream.
The whistle screams somewhere ahead, your body follows smoothly behind.
Opportunities arise in accordance with the depth and clarity of our desires.
The rhythm of the train is hypnotic, the blur of surroundings mesmeric. The desire is to stay on to the end of the line, the desire is to get off and spend some time. Back and forth, the train is always moving, the town is always staying. The whistle echoes through both. On and off, back and forth, time and time again.
