The In-Between

What is that moment before the intake of the next breath and, also, before the release of the one just taken? The thing the empty and the full have in common seems to be the extreme moment of faith. That empty space where the cycle pauses and we assume that it will regain its momentum. Like when we go to sleep at night assuming we will naturally wake up in the morning. So far we've always been correct. There is only one inevitable time when we will be incorrect in that assumption. That space where the identification with identity breaks down. The dreamtime where the boundary between what we think we are and what we are blurs. Those micro-moments of eternity where we are neither here nor there. The in-between. Where are we then? Who are we then? What is then? Isn't it exactly in those moments where all potentiality lies? Where the mystery resides? Isn't that where anything is possible? Where we forget; and by forgetting open ourselves up to remembering something more than who we thought we were. Isn't it percisely in those moments where we must embrace the unknown if we have any chance to grow beyond the boundaries that we had called ourselves? That is where conception lies. Where birth begins. At the still-point between the empty and the full. Who are we there?