If you lived an eternity in each moment, he wondered,
why wouldn’t that mean you’d only ever live for a single one?
He thought about limits in calculus, of Zeno’s paradoxes, infinity.
Although you would be living in the present, which supposedly is good.

But you’d launch yourself on a wave, say, at Waimea Bay, expect the thrill
but still, you’d never ride down the face of that wave, remain at the instant
you stood up on your board, paused there, the swell not developing beneath you,
never standing up, stuck, somewhere, and how did you even paddle out anyway?

Define moment, he thought, as say, not meaning the tick of a clock,
but a whole event, a complete experience, riding that wave all the way in,
the whole enchilada, from push-off, to stand-up, to drop and cut up the face,
moving ahead of the churn, blasted forward by the vortex of a collapsing wave.

Now that was a moment lived in totality, he thought, but then what?
Did it end then, you frozen finally in the instant all that adrenaline washed out?

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