The World Across the Gates

Poem written by occultoctober on Thursday 23, September 2021

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Inspired by energies at Union Station in Washington, D.C. c 2016

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Walking into a train station is like walking through a wrinkle in time. Somehow the gravity and the energy of the hustle and bustle of the metropolis around you finds its center. Not so slowly, it begins to stir. People are going places, moving too quickly onward to whatever bigger and better place it is they're getting to to appreciate the world in which they already exist. They walk at two paces: either it's too slowly for anyone else to follow, or too fast to follow behind anyone else in the natural ebb and flow of humanity. The former remain oblivious. The latter brush by, passing onto you the rushing that has set into their souls. You don't know much about a traveling life when you're not boarding a train. All you know is the information of places and arrival times provided to you in neon lights, and whatever it is that overcomes your body and being as you see people rush through the gate to their designated platforms. Some feel an unceasing anxiety. Others feel an ineffable and unquenchable longing to be transported into the world across the gates. For the first time in your life, you realize how truly insignificant you are. For the first time in your life, you define translucence. For the first time in your life, you are in a place full of people who do not know you, would not miss you, and, if you made a split-second decision to buy a ticket to the place farthest from home, would not question you if they even noticed in the first place. For the first time in your life, you are really and truly free; freer than you've ever been before.
   

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