There is an indefinable surreality that accompanies movement from one place to another; especially, when arrival at said place is meant to be permanent. This permanency lends a different hue to all feelings and adjustments.
This surreality is neither scintillating nor depressing, only an observation of what is and evidence of how quick things change.
As in my own case, there is a thought that periodically surfaces that seems to question my sanity: Did I live in another place at all? There in lies the surreality, because the fact is that I did. I even have pictures to prove it and loved ones that I miss.
Accompanying this surreality is evidence of the utter truth to how quick things pass. And then, there are the remembrances of times even before that. My boys are how old? That can’t be right.
All of this is fascinating to me, and somewhere in my mind there seems to be an elusive answer that could connect everything and tie it up in a nice, neat package, but this elusive answer slips through my mental-fingers every time I get close.
What is available to me is a simple fact: Time is ever passing, collecting memories as it goes, forever dismissing my attachments and wants.
And what strikes me about that truth, is that the passage of time keeps moving me into my future, though I never truly arrive.
Only hindsight stutters my progress, gives me perspective, shines a light on the intricate weave of my actions and choices. But even then, even when I’m able to catalogue the connectivity of my life, I am in the water and, once again, losing sight of what was seen.
As I notice this moment I lose its permanence for its impermanence prevails. What can I do with that, this ever slipping of time?
I must cherish every moment I can. My awareness must be keen and honed to notice what I haven’t noticed before, and, more importantly, what has always been.
I must not take for granted the gifts before me, the people who populate my life, the love that befalls my soul on a daily basis. I must smell the air as the wind blows rain onto my face. I must gaze upon the sun’s rays that highlight the mountain’s ever rising spine.
I must listen to a friend’s laughter and joy, without opinion and without dismissal. I must play music like my brain doesn’t exist, because my brain always tells me I can’t have fun unless it’s perfect, which is really a lie.
I must walk as if all the universe’s time is on my side, taking in every utterance of grace and shimmy of leaf, even though I know that each breath leads me closer to the end.
I must offer my hand, assurance and encouragement, to those in need, when warranted. I must acknowledge that this moment has gone and I am on to the next, and then the next, all before I can say my name aloud.
And, most importantly, I must not drown in the morbidity of what should have been or the ever-swirling whirl pool of doubt of what could be.
My opportunities to harness the universe’s gift is right here, forever beckoning me to plunge in, take a chance, loosen up, and have faith.
Weathered Well 