You think of the collapse as you are breathing. It's the air, and the ringing in your ears. It's the civilized equivalent of the music of the spheres. It's danger, and grace. You might avoid it, but it will show up in the next thing that crosses the threshold. In truth, it is the threshold of everything. It's the old cliche, the eternal now. You might have not thought much of breathing before. Now you will, increasingly, with every breath. Though you may forget again, and gasp. It's not waiting in the periphery, not enacted overseas, it's not the future, it's in you, it's here. It's inward, and it's coming out, it's a living thing, the collapse. It's a culmination, radiating, within and without you, continuing.