if you could bring yourself
to stand perfectly still,
a practiced, perfectly still,
still of body, mind, tongue and breath,
you would, in your stillness,
be traveling at breakneck speeds.
Yet unaccounted for by your attention’s grasp.
Within the confines of the universe,
you are traveling so fast
as if with sensorially incalculable speed.
Think of yourself as lightning,
as a form of from here-to-there
but as a constant,
through all of the journey of the universe
and yet all but unnoticed.
And it would be even further unaccounted for
by your current attention in stillness.
Nonetheless imagine yourself as cellular
then down to molecular then atomic
and within the movement of subatomic.
well there you go,
that of itself is all fast-moving,
actually extremely fast.
Where we have frame and observance
and methods of identification
is only us, rendering masterfully myopic.
Being still, as in stillness,
is the fast-moving nothing,
happening inside of everything
and to everything
and everything is only one thing,
one complex unidentifiable vastness of a thing
that we would call, well,
that thing or the universe
or an assortment of versions of that . . . it,
as some of our observational rankle would surmise.
That places us
but we do not proceed to confirm
or authenticate or substantiate in consciousness
this unifying motion of the all,
that all, you know, the all of the it . . .
of its stillness . . .