Let’s go beyond the self of space today,
Beyond the time transfixed in tradition,
Not once entrapped in space by what they say,
(Away from wars, endless strife, ambition).
Was Shakespeare right, about the ink of time?
His Eternal Summer never shall fade.
Will most, so wrong, remain apart from rhyme?
Beyond patterns lies whole, what must pervade.
So, beyond time, the timeless moves quite still.
Will clocks forget moments in stunned alarm?
The past, that’s now, en masse, must pour and spill.
Beyond all time, the timeless flows with charm.
Now what’s perceived each day, each time, each year,
Is what we are so much more close than near.
[Excerpt from the ancient Gospel of Thomas, which many top biblical scholars are now saying is closer to the historical Christ than the traditional four:
If they ask you: What is the sign of your Father in you?, say to them: It is movement and rest.]