The hardest part is the easiest part: stepping into the moment before being in the moment. In that blink of an eye before the now, what are we doing? If we are plotting the next blink, planning the instant to follow, are we improvising at all?
Stepping over the precipice and finding we do no fall, held in the mid-air of the emerging now, by our own willed playfulness.
In that moment, the whole of reality becomes renewed. Yet, when we plan the instant before the present blink of an eye, the whole of history crowds in and possesses the present, like a reluctant-to-pass-on ghost.
Something tells me it is to do with surprising our breathing, and playing the fool with our rationality. Something tells me it’s a meeting point of the rational and the mad, of the torrent and the calm. Something tells me it’s a place of thrill – the thrill of fear and excitement. In the instant before the present instant, improvisation begins, history takes a momentary, necessary breath.