Tomorrow

No. Not my original thought by any stretch of imagination. Not even a new-age idea. Been around forever and ever, and as of yet to reach humanity. All of humanity. Tomorrow. Tomorrow does not exist. Tomorrow resides in imagination. The bigger the imagination, the bigger the impact of tomorrow. No. Not the creative imagination that writes poetry and music, stories and paintings. It's the sick imagination of the rational mind. The color of such imagination is black. It's cold, damp, and frightening there. It's from this platform that the myth of tomorrow with its darkness arises, wrapping the potential in a tightly-woven knot, closing the shutters, hanging the heavy drapes, causing the beauty to fade and the body to shiver. Tomorrow is the fear that paralyses. Tomorrow is the prison of the mind. Tomorrow is the conqueror of the now. Now. Now is...Now is soft. Calm. Relaxed. It is still. It is deep. It is. Now lacks the momentum of imagination. Now needs no fuel. Now is complete. Now is soft. Calm. Relaxed. And thus am I.