My life, it seems, revolves around time.
It seems to be the basis by which all things are measured. My life is measured in years, although I really don’t have anything to compare it to. If I lived to be 100, I’m not quite half-way through my journey. Yet, for all I know my journey could be coming to a close, and all I have to measure it by would be the amount of time I had and what I was able to do with it.
The trouble is, you think you have time. ~Jack Kornfield.
Yeah, that’s the trouble. I meander through this moment believing another is coming. I try to slow things down, become more present in the moment. Presence sometimes seems like an act of control, something where I intentionally get in the way of the future in order to freeze the present. It doesn’t work that way, and I often just get stuck in a cycle of obstinence and resistance, believing at some level that I’ll get it right one day. One day I be so present that no time truly exists.
I actually don’t want to be that enlightened, assuming that being present is truly being enlightened at all. I want to be a spiritual rabble-rouser who is implicitly in love with his own ego and completely unafraid of being wrong. I want to feel the gift of time slip through my fingers, and I want to get stuck in the mud after being told not to play there. I want to feel the power of a good woman on top of me, and know the pain of her departure. I want to feel it all.
I want to push your boundaries, not because I want great or bad things for you, but because I learn something about myself in the process. I want to throw away the old paradigms and make one up as I go. I want to make out with her on a park bench until everyone around us loves the love we are making. I want to throw mud at the bigots of the world only so that they have to wash themselves. Maybe some of their anger will wash off too.
I want to make love in the woods because I think the trees should see some human awesomeness for a change. I want to bathe in a stream not to wash the dirt off, but to let some of water’s clean on. I want to touch you in the most loving way possible, not to lay claim to you, or to own you, but to set us both free.
What does any of this have to do with time? Got me, but it sure felt good putting those out there. Maybe by the time you are done reading this that little tingle in that little spot of yours tells you all you need to know. Maybe in time we will all understand each other. Maybe it’s time we just sit down and try.
Maybe one day I’ll put my hand on your thigh and you’ll move it upward. Maybe one day you’ll kiss me so hard you need to surface for air. Maybe, must maybe, you’ll see controlling the wave was nothing more than one colossal waste of time.
See, the problem is that even though we all think we have time, we often realize its over way too late. If you all bury me in December I’ll realize I never did get that 14er in, or I didn’t make enough love in the world, or that I just shouldn’t have waited for “next summer” to run that obstacle course race. Maybe I’ll realize that I didn’t share enough of my heart, or expose enough of my soul, or tell you enough times just how fucking much I love. Maybe when the mouth is silent the words will come. Maybe when the flesh is weak it will finally appreciate its strength.
Time. I curse the man who realized its existence (we all know it couldn’t have been a woman. She’s always late), but I value his invention if for nothing more than to help me realize that my potential will never be realized when, it must be realized now.
Did I say “now”? There’s that present moment again. Dammit. Maybe the tenses are good to reflect on the value of time. We have the past (I’ve wasted so much time), the future (I may not have time), and the present (now is for all eternity). So maybe the present moment isn’t just a moment of peace or a glimpse of eternity. Maybe it is a recognition of potential that resides in honor of possibility. Or maybe it is whatever the hell I want it to be.