Time is difficult.
It seems as if there is either way too much of it or not nearly enough. Half the time, I feel as if I'm straddling some wildly bucking beast, trying to hold on for dear life, sure that I'm losing the battle.
The other half of the time, there's a huge expanse of forever falling away from me, and every step I take leaves me farther away from its end - trapped by Xeno's paradox, in which I can only reach the halfway point from here to anywhere, never the end.
Of course, there's also the other other half - where I'm paying attention to something else entirely, and time slips by before I notice, and by the time I do, it's too late. I don't exactly know what it's too late for, not always, but I get a nagging itch to chase after it, to capture it back (as if I had passion of it in the first place!).
Time is so difficult, I end up with three halves of it.
Thing is, I spend so much time looking for it, chasing it, trying to bend it into submission, I run the risk of missing the time that is right here. See, I always want it to be the Big Moments (can't you hear the capital letters?), those grand entrance kind of timestimes require horns and huzzahs, perhaps even parades and confetti.
Even that grand expanse thing, that endlessness of forever time thing - it's the twin side of the same coin. Time isn't slow or boring. I make it stretch and grow until it blots out the sun. It's so big and endless, I still miss the stuff at my feet, the time that is right at my fingertips.
I forget the beauty of the right now. I forget the depth of small moments. Oh sure, it's not all profound and exquisitely joyous. Ugh. That would be the fourth half of the difficulty of time. No, the right now is just that - here, unfolding with or without drama (the "with" would be the completely within the moment kind, rather than what I slap on from outside of any particular moment of time, reeking of sweat and desperation).
One of the gifts of counting the omer, of this time of mindful intention, is that I can, once again, right-size my relationship to time. It is neither bucking bronco or infinite expanse. I can stop chasing all the other moments, stop killing time or wasting it.
I can be in this moment, this here, this now.
And with that, day four flows into five of the omer. Welcomed to now.
The other half of the time, there's a huge expanse of forever falling away from me, and every step I take leaves me farther away from its end - trapped by Xeno's paradox, in which I can only reach the halfway point from here to anywhere, never the end.
Of course, there's also the other other half - where I'm paying attention to something else entirely, and time slips by before I notice, and by the time I do, it's too late. I don't exactly know what it's too late for, not always, but I get a nagging itch to chase after it, to capture it back (as if I had passion of it in the first place!).
Time is so difficult, I end up with three halves of it.
Thing is, I spend so much time looking for it, chasing it, trying to bend it into submission, I run the risk of missing the time that is right here. See, I always want it to be the Big Moments (can't you hear the capital letters?), those grand entrance kind of timestimes require horns and huzzahs, perhaps even parades and confetti.
Even that grand expanse thing, that endlessness of forever time thing - it's the twin side of the same coin. Time isn't slow or boring. I make it stretch and grow until it blots out the sun. It's so big and endless, I still miss the stuff at my feet, the time that is right at my fingertips.
I forget the beauty of the right now. I forget the depth of small moments. Oh sure, it's not all profound and exquisitely joyous. Ugh. That would be the fourth half of the difficulty of time. No, the right now is just that - here, unfolding with or without drama (the "with" would be the completely within the moment kind, rather than what I slap on from outside of any particular moment of time, reeking of sweat and desperation).
One of the gifts of counting the omer, of this time of mindful intention, is that I can, once again, right-size my relationship to time. It is neither bucking bronco or infinite expanse. I can stop chasing all the other moments, stop killing time or wasting it.
I can be in this moment, this here, this now.
And with that, day four flows into five of the omer. Welcomed to now.
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