Sometimes the earth just seems to move slowly. You can sense it, and you stop to grasp it, but you cannot, and then it seems to move again, still slowly, but just out of reach. It's not that you even know what you're reaching for, but you feel the need, the desire. You're not even sure why you are pausing or what has made you stay still to absorb the moment. Time just stops, and then slowly starts again, but everything has changed. You are no longer listening to music in the car, you are no longer driving it. You are pulled over, you have turned the stereo off, even though the lyrics of the tune you were listening to were speaking to you for the first time, even though you have heard that song more than a few times, suddenly that time it was speaking to you, suddenly that time it made sense and struck a chord within your body, but it still became less important than the feel of the earth, and the wag of the trees, the wind blowing, softly. You're not even sure what is going on, what you are feeling. You are not sad, you are not angry. You are not hungry. You are not drunk, you are not stoned. You are stone cold sober, and moved.
It's the silent mystical pause that you wish could last a thousand lifetimes. The security of the moment is the security you try to maintain daily and yet never achieve.
As soon as you realize it exists, and it exists all around you, it's gone. Like a vanishing ghost that merely brushed you by. Like a blanket of hope, understanding, acceptance and love that you could smell but not touch or see.
Is that God? Is that Mother Earth? Is it the presence of a lost friend, a lost love, lost family? The further you dissect it the less special it becomes. You just have to leave it. Actualize it, and move forward. It's gone. It's over. It will come again though. Around and around, it will come again.