Vanishing thinking

Things vanish. Sometimes they fade away, sometimes they simply vanish.

Sometimes they vanish because we stop seeing them. Vanishing, in such a case, is something I did, not something it did. For an example of this click the title of this blog, "Vanishing thinking," and you will vanish. You'll discover yourself somewhere else most interesting. Stare at the cross for a while and relax. Reappear here when you're finished.

I am curious to know about the present, meaning the thin wedge of time that is this very instant, the tiny time-wedge surfing down the wave made by the colossal event of the future colliding with the past. The past is huge, goes back a long way, is filled with lots of stuff, like the ocean below. The future seems infinite, everything possible is stored there waiting for its chance to be, like the sky above. The wave is just a surface that separates the two, and it has no dimensions of its own, no material to call its own.

The present has no dimension, it is the translation from "will be" to "was", and then it vanishes to be replaced by some next instant. Where did it go? Will it be okay? Who is experiencing it now that it's gone? It wasn't is for nearly long enough, I want it to linger with me a while...

What about the instants coming towards me at the speed of light? Who is experiencing them before I do? Do they vanish for those creatures in the same way mine will vanish for me after will becomes is becomes was?

What are all these instants running from in such headlong haste? Why are they so desperate to slip away, to vanish?

Or is it not the present that vanishes at all? Is it something I'm doing or not doing that makes me think it vanished? Is there some funny analog of a green dot moving around erasing not the dots, but my ability to see them?

That would be weird, if that time I beat that kid up because he had a steel plate in his head is still happening. If he is still screaming and screaming and I am still hammering on him forever and ever, just an instant away and not visible. Me unable to stop punching him, unable to stop loathing myself for doing it.

Another thought: Is my heart still broken?

Is hers?

Let it vanish, after all.