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The Highway and the Lost Soldier

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The Highway and the Lost Soldier The midday sun around Adelaide River does something violent to the bitumen. At forty-five degrees, the Stuart Highway softens like melting fat; it turns into a black mirror, rippling with an unnatural, liquid glare that pools over every low rise. That is where it waits. He is always trudging south, away from life and deeper into the blistering furnace, his boots making no sound against the tar. The Highway and Lost Soldier Standing From two hundred yards out, he resembles a stranded traveler you’d pull over to save. He wears sun-bleached, disintegrating drill cotton that matches the bone-white dust of the termite country, his head angled down at an impossible, broken angle against the glare. No broad-brim hat. No swag. No water bottle. Just stiff, unnatural limbs jerking with every stride. “Driver... look at his face. We need to stop—why won't he turn around?” He is no lost tourist. Could he be the linesman from the Overland Telegraph days who tore ...
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Celeste Imaginary Time

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When imaginary time becomes part of linear time
Enlightening normal time 
Transcendental experience
As it is sensed
As it matters and as it becomes real
As real as in real time
The gateway of everything as in that of realising self

The thing that is in front of you
The thing that looks back at you
The thing that you are not looking at though the looking glass
The part that helps to explain the void within
Compensating for fault
Trying to maintain watch
In the moment
In one breath knowing why this is as it is
Why you are not as you seem

In splendor, the thought appears
A slither of knowing 
The now I understand meaning
That is without evidence of support
That is not taught to us
The inner world of dreaming things are just done
In clear vision and in the action of doing what is right





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