Wherever You Go, There You Aren't

Intergalactic travel is no fantasy or fiction,
Or distant potential of the human race.
It is the reality of the mind on any given day,
At any moment before the altars of life,
Before the people we love or know nothing,
Within nightmares happening in the day,
Or blessed hopes wrapping the nightfall.
We drift or rocket to anywhere but here.

Opening minded ears for engines roar,
Better still the counting down to lift,
Prompts a slower departure or, if attended,
A cancellation of the stellar launch;
A place within the space we inhabit,
A holiness for the peace which passeth,
A before-us of replenishing beauty.

It is not natural to our species nor would it:
Our stature is designed for movement,
And our inclinations are far flung.
The moment is a composition of later and latter;
Hubblescapes of yesterday and tomorrow,
A great draft drawing us from middle now.

The advancement of our kind is acclaimed
By the elevation of this impulse toward other
Than what is and why not join that choir
Other than the consequence to a greater whole
suffering under a lapse of attending.

The metering out of humanity into parcels
Here, now,  there, then, done and not yet
Are more of the same: either, nor, neither, or,
Which solves less than it grieves.

The call may be simply just to make note
As we obey the obvious condition of ourselves
To be at once capacious and  contained.

We do more than walk a line between those poles,
But a merengue on a spiral staircase.

Present, dreaming, drifting, returning, attending, spin.

Note:  There is a certain surreal nature to sabbatical, as in thinking one could just get away and stop thinking about life as it is among those I love, family and friends.  Being present to three thousand year old ruins at that same time as offering prayers for the struggling thousands of miles away.  How do we balance today and yesterday and tomorrow?