stasis: (1) a period or state of inactivity or equilibrium
(2) a stoppage of flow of a body fluid*
A little boy lies in bed, suspended between wakefulness and sleep. He lifts his head from the pillow for a moment, seeming to emerge from the suspension between two worlds, only to flop back down, shut his eyes in surrender and enter into the dreams of 4-year olds, where lions, tigers and bears are held at bay by the saving love of Daddy and Mommy.
Thousands of years ago, a grown man lay in the tomb prepared for him by others, others who believed that he too had succumbed to the sleep of the eternal rest, unaware that he was in a state of perfect equilibrium, the delicate balance between the already and the not yet . . . the time and the place where time and space . . . finite and infinite . . . had their perfect balance . . . the time and the place when all the cosmos held its collective inhaled breath of anticipation . . . where . . . when . . . everything hung in the balance . . .
Would it work? Could it?
I wonder that they asked . . . he was, after all, God . . .
But surely they asked . . .
I would have . . .
I do . . . even now . . .
How is all action perfected in the full stop of all everything? How is life assured by its ending?
How is sleep necessary to wakefulness? How does a little boy win the battle only when he stops fighting?
How is it that the most profane of acts . . . the murder of an innocent . . . is the most holy?
How . . .
how . . .
how?
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*Google dictionary
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