Articulating Silence - Deciphering Dreams - Exploring Inner Landscapes

Showing posts with label Escaping Time and Space. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Escaping Time and Space. Show all posts

Friday, July 19, 2013

Magical Pockets of Time





“Time can do all sorts of things. It’s almost like a magician. It can turn autumn into spring and babies into children, seeds into flowers and tadpoles into frogs, caterpillars into cocoons, and cocoons into butterflies. And life into death. There’s nothing that time can’t do. Except run backwards. That’s its trouble really, it can only go one way.”

Alex Shearer
THE STOLEN


Our lives begin with passed down lullabies with verses of old.   In the lap of an elder we hear ancient stories beginning with "Once Upon A Time...".   The years follow with "Time to get up sleepyhead," or "Come on now, time for bed!" The days of regulation stream far ahead. 

We observe children playing alone outdoors with great animation caught in some magical illusion ignoring all time and space.  We hear others reporting, "Time just stood still."   In crisis we hear people say, "I just need a minute," knowing full well our  lives will never regain original cadence.

There are pockets in time waiting for us, if we would just be willing to duck out of our restraints.  These pockets are deep and comfortable and need to be visited often.  Children know of the magic held within the pockets of time.   They savor each and every moment, reluctantly returning to the regime of time upon hearing their mother's voice calling, "Come home!"

The expansion and contraction of time is amazing.  When we are engaged in a task we dislike, we seem to be trapped forever; whereas, when we are engaged in something pleasing, the time can pass far too quickly.  When we are mesmerized by the aspects of a new creative adventure, we can forget about time all together, exclaiming, "Where did the time go?"  Passing of Time, In Time, At the End of Time, Another Time, There is No Time, and Being Lost in Time, as you see the phrases are endless.

There are individuals who have a favorite time of day.  For some it is the first breath of the day communing with the Divine while others choose the sun setting, feeling the presence of Allah.  Still others find peace and calm watching the moon gently pass across the sky.  And then there are those who can relax only upon connecting with the mattress of their bed at day's end.   All of these passings can be magical pockets of time.

Although I can be an highly organized individual, I much prefer to be a procrastinator with time.  I enjoy the sense of being boundless by just experiencing the moment.  I resent others who try to dictate my time.  I do my best to carry all of the elements of time within my elaborate pocket.  I want to sprinkle my minutes as I see fit, and savor the ones still lingering in the creases of the fabric lining my pocket.  I will not squander even one wink of time unless I get caught in the twinkling of the Divine.


Monday, October 8, 2012

Glimpses of Fire


 .


Sitting around a fire together
for hundreds of thousands of years
is a big part of what makes us human.

Author Unknown


There is something about a fire, whether in a fireplace or a stone circle out doors that embraces me like home.  I cannot help but wonder how many fires have warmed me down to my soul.  Give me a good book or a journal or just thinking time, and I can travel incredible distances accompanied by the crackling fire. 

Staring into the hot coals, I can easily eliminate not only time but space.  It is as though the flames are a mere tunnel welcoming my mind to wander where I have been on journey before.  The tunnel is a portal that opens into all that ever was. 

Transported, I find myself with brown muscular legs running barefoot through a forrest following a soaring hawk.  The hawk leads me to an opening in the might trees where people are gathered around a fire.  These people welcome me home.  They are my family and love me.  Everyone is drumming and the vibrations run up my powerful legs calling me to dance.  There is ceremony and ritual igniting my soul and creating passion.

Transported, I find myself to be a mere spark released into the air from a hot flame.  There is drunken laugher and cruel words with screams of horror and fright.  The intense flames lick their tongues against the flesh of the innocent as souls are released up into the air.

Transported, I find myself sitting around a fire, wounded in a soldier's uniform.  Men are gathered into the circle, but most are really young boys.  We are hungry, filthy, tired, and broken.  We no longer care who the enemy is and we have forgotten the reasons for war.  We long for our families and the safety of our homes that we will see never more.

Exiting the portal, escaping back through the tunnel, I sit with bone shaking emotions by the fire in this time and place.  I send love, light, and healing back from where I have been.  I remain safely seated in my chair until I feel calm and peaceful again.