a new month.
i’ve been so long, here with you,
not nearly long enough.
and i think about the time we spent
where it all went
what we did and how we stayed so still
in the quiet moments.
the moments our hearts spoke only what we meant.
we couldn’t buy this kind of love. we couldn’t even dream it. yet here we are, bathing in river mist and mountain peaks and rainforests shrouding us in the greenest most deliberate decorated mossiness.
you put your toes in any water and feel the cold or surprising warmth. and it makes me smile when you jump in
seeing you come out all wet
pricking water droplets
sending them rolling off your skin.
is it the rain or the river?
it doesn’t seem to change, no matter how much i push or pull time just scurries right away from all this is. no matter how much we want it to stop still and rest for a bit. no matter how much it suffocates and liberates and drowns and frees all the outrageous realities we’re slowly, beautifully sinking in between.
we bury our toes and open our hearts and let it all unfold in a beautiful picture of all that has passed
of all that’s yet to come.
life happens so fast.
don’t think time
[they feel like weeks]
but i close my eyes
then, then! they pass me by.
so how do i speed up, how do i slow down.
how do i stop my heart from beating faster than it knows
and for a second the cars stopped driving and the man stopped sweeping and the rain stopped falling and i stopped tap tap tapping on my keyboard writing frantically about you.
and in that second, the stillness took me over as i daydreamed of something so far from right here and now. as i awoke back to reality, back to cars and sweeping and rain and typing and thinking about you [and if] and when the hell i should be saying that bittersweet goodbye to this life
to these days of everything
to what it’s so clearly beginning to mean.
it appears that all i’m really trying to do is stop time.
half the world is sleeping, i’m the one awake. and it’s hard to make the move to bed… it’s hard without goodnight.
is sleeping, somewhere far away. so i’ll dream of distant dreamers. you sleep i sleep, you wake i wake.
there are those pretty hours in between it all.
now that will never change.
i’m so confused. i’ve crossed so many time zones, my body is yearning for stability: in motion, time and place.
but my heart beats heavy against the now. the only reality that matters.
travel is what i was born to do.
i find my feet and walk. across the jungle of adventure staring me down. people, faces, accents, names, time zones. that reality. not dissimilar to what i know, but new enough to make my skin growl with frenzied exaltation.
it’s feeding time for the wanderlust that ravages my soul every ordinary day and night.
i’ll savour these moments, while time reigns supreme.
i sit and i watch the hourglass empty itself, into itself.
and all the granules of iridescent sand that get left behind. what do they mean, in the scheme of time. that invisible, irreversible, inconceivable idea that we feel and can do
something nothing about.
yes, my fingers reached for something. but i knew better. spelling out nothing, with something. blame my heart, go on.
so i turn the hourglass on its side. and for just a fraction of it, i seem to have stopped time.
i take a moment. sit and breathe. let my eyes blur over. day dream. stare at nothing. think of everything. and when i don’t find you there, i tip it right side up again and watch it empty itself.
a perfect stream of sand, of time running free.
and an astronomer said, “master, what of time?”
and he answered: you would measure time the measureless and the immeasurable. you would adjust your conduct and even direct the course of your spirit according to hours and seasons.
of time you would make a stream upon whose bank you would sit and watch its flowing.
yet the timeless in you is aware of life’s timelessness, and knows that yesterday is but today’s memory and tomorrow is today’s dream. and that that which sings and contemplates in you is still dwelling within the bounds of that first moment which scattered the stars into space.
who among you does not feel that his power to love is boundless?
and yet who does not feel that very love, though boundless, encompassed within the centre of his being, and moving not form love thought to love thought, nor from love deeds to other love deeds?
and is not time even as love is, undivided and paceless?
but if in you thought you must measure time into seasons, let each season encircle all the other seasons, and let today embrace the past with remembrance and the future with longing.
the prophet: time.