by Mona Yasir

Created on: November 09, 2008

A One Minute Silence

There is a place between sleep and consciousness, an intangible moment in time, where the cosmos and the laws which govern it are motionless. It is in that waking moment that questions can be answered and puzzles solved. It is the slightest and yet the most inspired, the most creative and alert moment of our entire hopelessly wasted day. Emerging into it from the deep sleepy coil that is more than consciousness, you can sense the pressing boundaries of impossibility bend into a cavernous hall where the air becomes clear and sharp.

But then its power is soon dispersed and you remember your awkward bed and your cumbersome body that is now rested but not healed, and you hear the snoozing alarm start to rip the quietness to rob you of the fleeting now and throw you into tedious today. And so the clockwork monkey begins to bash at his inconsequential drum. The same toothpaste, shower, deodorant and tea, the same purse, car keys, motorway and office desk. The same thought, Is there nothing more than this?' between the courteous nods of hello at the smiling faces that have no names.

Yes, sir, if you go up the stairs, it's the first door on your left,' you hear your voice repeat the same instruction for the billion-to-the-power-ten'th time. You feel the air that this simple task requires coming out of your lungs and forming words in your mouth. You hear the sound, the tonal resonance your voice box produces to carry out this instruction. And yet, it is not you. Because you are not really here.

You are here, on a Hawaiian beach baking your beautiful body until it looks as crisp and tempting as a roasted nut. Or you are here, gambling with shiny, plastic tokens on a

cruise ship docking a space station in orbit around Mars. Or here, in your nursery making a house for a tea party and playing with your new doll. Or even here in the places of your dreams where you observe your surroundings in slow motion like a voyeur sitting on top of the time line, watching the threads unroll. You jump ahead sometimes to see what's coming but time always catches up.

This morning, just before you woke, you left the world of unconsciousness and entered a waking vision. The dim, blurry images of dreams crystallized into a crisp picture, fluid in its clarity and vivid in its detail. You saw a car that was very red. Not a good sign. And then an accident; you felt the impact on you face of the other car as it collided with yours, you heard the crunch of your bones as your

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