The 7th Heaven

It was one of those instances where the cosmos opens up, where the infinite and the finite meet for a charming and magical moment in a lurking, passionate, cosmic kiss. An instant that descends down to you from the glassy clear star studded sky like a flimsy, parlous bubble stooping down on a moonbeam. Its beauty you accommodate in your hand in awe and with the fondest of touches knowing that if you even dare to look away, the moment might be lost.
The moonlit waves pounding relentlessly against the massive rock that rose like a giant out of the surf. The sweet smell of the enigmatic sea hung in the air. The air was chilled and calm, pregnant with a halo of illusional beauty. It was a moment that you relish, a moment that you respect, a moment you arrest in awe, in heavenly worship. You talk in subdued voices about deep feelings of the soul. In the instant where the abode of God and the angels and the earth connect, you hush yourself adequately to hear, to view timeless existence with your own eyes.
It's a cherished instant that the soul interconnects to the bottom self, deep down - the deep that calls out with a mournful sound as it dashes upon the rock. The apparently infinite, realizing its finiteness as it stretches itself upon the moon drenched rock. The deep that echoes from the infinite expanse of the moonlit sky, elongated from horizon to horizon, extending back through the ageless expanse of the universe, yet approaching to meet you in that instant, in that moment, at that time.

It was the cry that vibrated and echoed from the giant rock standing firm for eons against the hammering surf, evidencing to an obstinate strength beyond imagery. It was the cry that thundered to me, rich with pain, a spirit of their own. It was the cry that beckoned me in the expanse of the silvery moon, spattering all around, softly gracing the view with an enigmatic, yet mesmerizing glow.

It was the cry that rose from the interiors of my own soulfulness in that instant, that pined, that screamed to unify it's sound with the deepness of eternity, the depths of that very moment, the sounds that performed around me, echoing against the watery grave an eery, sympathetic symphony that grew louder every minute.

I trudged back through the sand with a heavy heart that I've left the witching instant at the base of the lonely rock, under the moony pounding waves, under the shelter of the stars. I knew that nothing lasts for ever, yet in one last salvo of magic, I see a celestial star freaking through the moonlit heaven cueing me that I should not always cherish myself in magical instances, but the deepness of eternity are never far away.

It's so strange to notice how the continuous nonspatial of the soul works, how the arousing realism can so well melt into dreamy realities while the unconscious soul creeps it's way into life and beliefs.