To The Point Of No Return (first letter)

You’re hurtling past…
You’re a state of movement so pervasive, so totalizing, that you can can seem like stillness — a suspension that’s only achievable through some sort of divine insight and epic discipline — something impossibly ordered, contained, thought-through… It would be a horrible mistake to mis-recognize you like this. Some might consider it unforgivable.
There’s never been any going back to anything.  Nothing has been paused. Every destination is already disinterred. They’re constantly reconfiguring while bathed in demolition lights.
Anything I’ve ever tried to protect from you has been rendered nostalgic — an invention.
Fate and choice are reduced to pulp. Nature and culture run around like chickens with their heads cut off. You pluck, skin and chop, season, stir and stew.  You devour.  Life appears as a cannibal feast — a gorging that forms all there is, was or will be.
You don’t have to be reached because you’re always already here — no rock bottom or irreparable damage, no state of grace to lose, no lines to cross.
You’re the real authority behind the Alphas and Omegas, the kits and kaboodles.
You were there in the moment I first thought I existed. You were there already.
There’s no shame to be had in all of this (no stoicism either). No point of origin is waiting for me. You’re the verdict, the sentence, the crime and the punishment. You’re the rehabilitation too.
All grounding speeds endlessly beneath and behind us. All geographies are passing. You seem to be the only option for hanging a hat, planting roots or retiring.
You’re hurtling past. You’re always already.