Time. It's cylical. It's circular. No, it's linear. It's the master of deception. It's defiant to the point of madness. It never halts, but seems to change gears based on the law of opposites. You want to hold the moment forever, it evaporates. You are broken under the pain of loss, it drags on endlessly.
Time. Quite possibly the most absract concept bestowed on us without origination. We are a nation of order, control, the masters of the "knowns". As such, we try to control time. We measure it in seconds, minutes, hours, days, months and years. We try to manipulate it and categorize our lives based on its quantitative proporties.
When I was six, I wanted to be eight.
Eight wasn't really everything I cracked it up to be at six.
The winter always looks more magical from the perspective of summer.
Summer hot and winter cold - It is what it is
Where do we stop time? When do we say, "Ah -ha. I found it. My perfect moment. I am satisfied here, at peace and not searching for the next, and the next, and the next?"
This train of semi-connected thought planted in my mind as I thought of Perfect Moment Mondays. Aside from the obvious alliteration so appealing to the phrase (Perfect Moment Wednesdays really doesn't work), why Monday? Why not everyday? Um...Thursday perhaps? But I, in my literal, time dictated world needed my good friend Mrs. Spock to point it out.
Is there a perfect moment within every 24 hours of our earthly experience? (there's that pesky timeline again) There has to be. There should be. How do we find it? How do we invite it?
After 32 years on this earth and 8 of them on my grief road I think my mind is finally breaking free of the securely locked time straps it has slaved to for years. It is a very slow process for me. Attention to self is not something I have allocated time for in the past. Oh sure, I worked out a bit here and there, hated it, but felt like a passerbys lingering glance or a friends, "Man you are looking good" was worth it. It wasn't for me. It was for the world.
I lost Emma's body. I lost the ability to hold a baby and nurse in wee the hours of the morning. I lost her eartly future and all its permutations. I have not lost Emma. She is my guiding star, the bright light leading me, calling me when I get lost. When I get trampled down by the "must-do's" of time.
I did not choose this road. None of us did. But here we are, sloshing through the hellish muck that is grief. And yet, my girl is so powerful within me that I am not so ignorant to her lessons anymore. Furthermore, I recognize that she will be my cosmic teacher for the rest of my earthly days.
It is my job to listen. "Take care of your inner self" she says "and you will better care for my sisters". I know she's right. The, But there is so much to do in so little time... list appears instantly confusing my choice of direction. No. Not today.
Today holds no special assigned meaning. It isn't her birthday. It isn't the anniversary of her death. It is only a day, a late Fall Vermont day, asking me to participate in the process of evolving my heart and soul.
I could pay bills. I could bust out the first draft of chapter seven. I could clean my house. I could....oh yes...I definately could.
I will meditate at Emma's grave. I will allow a perfect moment this day and everyday.
To hell with time.
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