Blink

The sun that rose today—familiar, warm—is it the same sun as the last one I saw? Will tomorrow’s be the same as this one? It feels as I remember, brings as much light, seems about right.

Proving the continuity of things is tricky business; conundrum at the root of faith: belief in the continuity of things. Is such faith implicit in the workings of a mind? necessary? —the way persistence of vision lets us enjoy movies: each frame its own separate world, created by its own distinct swarm of photons on emulsion. Unique, but oh so similar to the one before...

What happens between blinks of the eye?
Worlds destroyed, substitutional simulacra, each a copy of a copy...
Madness echoes there, raving lunatic chained deep in the bowels of a cold and sprawling institutional hospital,
howling, howling.

Faith, then:
either letting go the worry
or not blinking.