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Right now happened before and will happen again later.   History is a constant art form tumbling forward with the moment within all moments, bursting open like inflated elephant nostrils.  The falling man fell with the moving moment, tumbled like the harmonious dancer along the symmetric chaos of flaming winds.  His identity is the glowing ember of historical beauty, the beauty we shun until we can say it is history, but it is only the presence of the now that makes it history.  The moment falls.  The moment rises.  Right here in this stiffened moment of stillness.  Current history should not be shunned and then later valued.  The falling man wants to fall into someone’s smooth, caressing arms.  He wants to be held, nurtured, and remembered now.  I will catch him with my enlightened memory.   I will remember and revere his suicidal heroism.  He did not commit suicide rather he chose to do what the Beatles said to do.  He chose to “let it be.”

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