This moment, it is pertinent to say, has been waiting its turn from the beginning of creation. When the sleeper stirred first and uttered a tiny vibration, unaware of it––just a single movement creating the beginning of a dream––this moment of time has been waiting, waiting to appear.
Before this moment, there were many other moments––movements, thoughts, words, actions, concerns, fights, death, life, survival, history, planetary events, starlight floating about in the heavens.
Before this moment, there is an ocean of time. After this moment, another equally infinite ocean of time.
This moment is here; empty and meaningless, surrounded by oceans of time and possibility. There will be a time when this moment is not; and whatever is here now, will not be. When this moment is over, the lights will be no more and the the path trail of light that comes into the eyes and makes its way into an unknown jungle of electrical fires inside a mass of liquid and brilliance called the brain will no longer mark a path.
This moment will then be complete, without a trail, without breath, without movement, without a present.