I stand near zero on an unmarked number line stretching from positive infinity to negative infinity. The number line is characterized by two parallel, cold, steel rails, which are seen only by the reflected light of the moon. Two crossing gates, one on each side of the tracks, stand guarding the crossing like stone soldiers. A breeze may cause their arms to rock back and fourth gently as they point toward the heavens, but they are otherwise inanimate. The world is silent. The world sleeps. Time is measured only by the passing of stars across the sky. So it has been for an eternity, or at least it has seemed like an eternity to this moment's eye.
But this moment is about to see a change. What's this? A light appears at negative infinity. It is only a point. A point at negative infinity. Indeed, a point of interest. It's photons have traveled unknown lengths that I may see it from here. But the mystery of such grows into a point of anticipation. Yes, this a headlight. The headlight of a night traveler, the awaited traveler, a train. A train is coming!
The headlight grows in silence because the truth of the rumor about the train's approach is carried here only on the photons from its headlight. But not for long. The sound of the diesel engines and the faint echo of a horn tell me that the front of the train has entered the set of unseen numbers called finite. This sound is a crescendo from absolute tranquillity. I'm not sure exactly when I first heard it; I only know that now I do.
Like the patient spider who detects a trespasser on some distant portion of its web, the unliving crossing gates perceive the train fouling some distant portion of their territory. Louder now, the approaching train causes the crossing gates to come alive. Seeing that the arrival of the awaited traveler is near, the bell sounds the alarm. Red, incandescent lamps wake up and flash alternately in accordance with their appointed duty. An electric motor pauses to make sure no car is underneath the gate arm and then quickly lowers it to give a thirty-second margin of safety to those who might otherwise be in the traveler's path.
The point of light now seems to fill the earth with the train's presence. The lead locomotive blows its horn. The piercing horn announces the traveler's coming to the whole sleeping world. Four blows: two longs, a short, and another long--the last blow doesn't let up until the train is actually on the crossing. As the locomotives pass, their diesel engines scream in full throttle. Their throaty exhaust blasts up from the tops of the locomotives. This is it. The train is crossing the zero point. The bell, which had diligently proclaimed the traveler's soon coming can no longer be heard upon its advent, but it continues just the same. Each car makes a distinct whooshing sound once the engines are passed. A few wheels have small flat spots which make a loud banging sound as they go by smacking the rail repeatedly. At some time, I know not precisely when, half the train is negative and half is positive. If any of the traveler's cars get too far out of line, their wheel flanges squeal in protest until the offending car gets back in the row. As quickly as the head end had come and gone, the traveler's, that is the train's, last car passes. It seems to suck the air behind it with one final whoosh. The traveler and its noise quickly fade.
The bell, which had been clanging all along, is noticed once more. Between each strike of its gong can be distinctly heard the silence which will soon rule the night once again. Noticing that the traveler has passed from this small island on which the intersection of a vast sea of roads, rail and paved, is formed, it rings its last. The motor can be heard as it picks up its gate arm, and the red lamps cease their work and go back to sleep.
Passing quickly from sight is the traveler's rear, marked by a tiny, twinkling, red light. Just a point of light, really. A point at positive infinity.
But the day of the Lord will come as a thief in the night...
----> 2 Peter 3:10