31 toward the Omer

tiferet shebhod

I don’t want to go there, and I can’t be where I’m not, except when I can, and then, who am I, and who is that? And if not now, when?

The force of when weighs on me as maybe the idea of in motion weighs on a ball that is not in motion. “Yet”? God flicks a finger, tumbles me forward.