Sleight of Hand

Here’s to the people who get overwhelmed. The people who look out at the city lights from the hillside and wonder… Who are all those others, down there, with their busy lives? Why do they go on, killing time? The questions tumble like dancers before them. Their muscles tense as they watch the street lights glimmer, a distant mirage. The knot forms. It’s all too much.

Being distracted by infinity is exhausting. Somehow, they enjoy the music to go along with the outpouring. It doesn’t ease the weight much, but it helps.

These are my people. They search and search for meaning while acknowledging the fruitless venture. They stumble from moment to moment often with a deeper awareness, much like an outer body experience. “You are not happening.” Difficult to grasp, it flutters in front of them for a microsecond, jeering. Blink. It’s gone, and the city lights return.

If it’s all a magic show, my people are the audience members who have spotted the sleight of hand. The joke’s on them, and yet everyone shares the punchline. It hangs in front of us all, like a transparent veil, or a century-long shroud of mist.

Here’s to these keen-eyed people. The actors, musicians, writers, artists, scientists, philosophers, historians, comedians, athletes and directors, who staple the transparent veil shut with their creations. Here’s to the people who have found a purpose in a purposeless world, who happily let the dancing city lights guide their way.

Here’s to the people who get overwhelmed, and overwhelm us in return.


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