Like an Insect

There is a space. It lasts but ten seconds. I place myself within it like breath enters lungs. I flow in and out of it to deliver life to every other part of who I am. This ten-second space sustains me in its impermanence. It feeds me everything the other spaces don’t. And at the same time, when I am in it, there are no other spaces. There is only that space in which I am born and I die in a little fraction of time. Like an insect. It is short, but it contains my whole life. And it is a life that is woven into the fabric of all life here on our planet. Its expression inevitably results in my self-portraiture art.