In an ancient land, long, long ago, yesterday and tomorrow, there lived no-one and everyone, and everything and nothing. Time was a cat’s tail swishing back and forth, attached to claws and teeth, ready to pounce. And place was everywhere. No matter where you went, place was in its place, accordingly. Now the people of this time and that place and that place and that place and that place and that place and nearly every place and virtually no place between that place and that place, well the people, they were lost. They wandered unaimlessly in circles, in search of magic that was there but so well-hidden that it was mistaken for a common, ordinary, unexceptional, everyday, mundane contrivance. A magic that was real and a trick that was life amongst a people simultaneously everywhere, everywhen, nowhere, and there. And amongst this multitudinous crowded sparsity there lived a man; really just a boy, but a very, very old boy. This boy was just born yesterday but had lived tomorrow and never, and planned to live again and again and again, momentarily forever. But first, he had to find the magic. He had heard a rumor that it was there, within reach, but when he went there, it was nowhere to be seen. So, he searched elsewhere. And he sought out self-proclaimed mystics and witches and conjurers and soothsayers, and he asked all the right questions but heard only the drumbeat and the clang of the cymbal. He did not hear the windblown whispers; he did not feel the weight of the way; he did not smell the popcorn clouds; he did not taste the marshmallow breeze; and he did not see the swishing cat’s tail, ready to pounce. But still he persisted.

One day, that was not this day or that day but another day, this man that was a boy flickered. He was there and he was not there and though he was not in the in-between, while he was in the in-between he saw another flicker that was there and not there. And as he passed through this place he’d never been, this place that never was, hoping to see the magic in the flicker, he heard a screech. And he looked down to discover he had stepped on the cat’s tail. Well of course, time stopped. And with no time, the boy stopped; in the in-between, that was not there and never was. Unable to lift his foot from the cat’s tail, (and because the claws and teeth were frozen mid-pounce, not sure he wanted to), the boy did what any one of us would do in the same circumstance – nothing. After doing nothing, (which I am obliged to point out is a contradiction), for a momentary eternity, the boy began to think. His first think-thought was that perhaps this was the magic he sought. But then he think-thought again and thought perhaps this is the trick, which he understood how a trick could be confused with magic so on his third-think-thought he determined that real magic is not a trick; and with all his strength and even more of his frailty the boy was able to lift his big toe and his little toe just enough to release the cat’s tail allowing her to complete her pounce which bloodied the boy’s foot and ankle and released him from the in-between that was not there and never was. As he stumbled back into his place and began again circling unaimlessly he discovered he was able (with great effort and mindless ease) to turn down the volume on the drumbeat and cymbal, and he found he was able to almost not hear whispers on the wind. And he detected a faint whiff of popcorn and tasted a tiny tongue-touch of marshmallow. And he felt an urge, a pull, a call to move counterclockwise, or to stop and call out in silence. And he knew there were some in the past-future moments to be who had actually left their unaimless circling in place accordingly to never be heard from again; though their leaving, their example, their voices, their shadows lingered, if not in the circle, at least now in this boy’s think-thought.

Weeks and months and years later on the very next day this boy stopped and called out in silence and began moving counterclockwise. But no one noticed. The boy did not want to hurt anyone so he threw the apples and walnuts and pig entrails at the feet of the circling mass. But no one noticed. He looked outside the circle and repeatedly for the very first time saw all kinds of nuggety debris and offal and sparkly trinkets being tossed about; some being thrown at the throng; some aimed at their heads. But no one noticed. This boy had a choice. He could keep circling and occasionally stop or move against the grain or call out in silence and not be noticed. Or he could leave the circle and be apart and move around at will and toss things about and not be noticed. Or he could find that damn cat and stand on its tail and not notice and not be noticed.

But what about the magic? When he flickered before, he was looking for the magic, so he associated the flicker with the magic. And though he frequently and never forgot about the flicker and the magic, he always and never stopped looking for it. Years and days and moments passed backward and forward, and as time went swishing by, this very, very old boy became a very, very, very old boy full of emptiness and think-thought. Late in his new-old life this boy chose a magic that was mostly, almost all but not really a trick. And he was glad he had waited to choose a magic. And he was glad he had experienced counterclockwise. And he was glad he had smelled a little popcorn and tasted a little marshmallow. And he was glad he had flickered. Though he was sorry he had not spent more time tossing things about outside the circle. And he was sorry he had not been able to see the cat as more than a swishing tail attached to teeth and claws. And he was sorry he had not been able to pet the cat and hear the cat purr. But most of all and not at all he was glad and sorry to be sorry and glad.

One day that was not today and probably not tomorrow but more likely yesterday this very, very, very old boy considered never calling out in silence again. This very, very, very old boy considered merely spending the remaining days of his past circling in his place accordingly. In the very moment he had this think-thought, years later, someone noticed. And the boy flickered. And the cat purred and rubbed against his legs. So even though this very, very, very old boy was both positive and uncertain that this was just another trick, still he stopped and began moving counterclockwise. And no one noticed. Regardless, this very, very, very old boy lived out his remaining days, calling out in silence, again and again and again, momentarily forever.

Then one day that was not today and probably not tomorrow but more likely there not then, this man, this very, very, very old boy, left the circle never to be heard from again; though his leaving, his example, his voice, his shadow, lingers…