Tuesday, 20th February 2018
Time is an unstable commodity, elusive, distracting, and chimeric almost! Almost is more to its fantastical elusive attribute than its certainty. I know that many if not all of the extremely few who do read this will scratch their heads. I have been known; to the unfortunate few who regard me as such, to vacillate from abounding in common sense to the recluse who vomits verbiage that pretends to be intelligible. I love words, as a dyslexic, my appreciation for the language is hard to understand. Perhaps I should start with the groundwork, lay the foundations of I and then perhaps we can rise together onto the summit of my viewpoint.
As a child I found that the letters in a word danced around, they flipped, changed positions and got me into lots of trouble. For a child of three learning to read the cat sat on a mat, well it was more like the act sta no a tam, to which I’d pause and try to make sense. A phonetic shout from my mom, the c-a-t s-a-t o-n a m-a-t! The letters would rearrange into the cat tas on a mat. A few more shouts and a smack later the cat (finally) sat on a mat.
So in my hyper-imaginative mind, the letters were wee little imps that loved to dance around when no one was looking. I took a fascination to Irish folk tales, I totally understood the plight of the little children who saw goblins and fairies that no one else could. I dreamt lavish dreams of magical lands where every letter had a mansion filled with objects that started with that very letter. I was forever being chased by the lowercase p and her twin sister q, b and d were the harbingers of trouble and i and e were interchangeable lovers.
I grew to view words as living collaborations between highly fickle letters. They formed in my naïve little mind beings who needed to be pleaded with, and they never settled for any offering that wasn’t sincere. My passion had to be true and burn with an urgency that threatened to drive me insane if I expected them to grace my blank page.
Which brings me to the point of time, just like words it can mean differently to different people. It demands inconsistently from different souls, it behaves illogically with different beings. Time moves fast for one, painfully slow for another, non-existent for someone with Alzheimer’s and stands still for someone in a coma. Even our minds find it hard to follow time in a linear fashion. Sometimes we are trapped in past, stuck in a horrific memory or a happy moment that runs in a loop, or in an imaginary future, but rarely in the present. We burn our food, let our coffees get cold, lose our keys, neglect our plants, but we always complain about Mr. Time. We all get the same amount and we are all granted it in the same fashion but we have such different experiences and results. Some live a lifetime in a moment, some go through an entire lifetime without living a single moment, some choose to end it abruptly, some do everything to extend theirs, and then there is me.
For me time is elastic, I often find myself neither in the past nor in the future and not even in the present. It’s like as if I am standing on top of a mountain looking down at a river, I can see where it has been, where it is at and where it is headed towards. Sometimes the indecisions of my life cloud my vision of the future, sometimes the pain of certain events blur the details in the past but one thing is consistent I feel disconnected.
The more painful the past or scary the future I find myself returning to this spot on the mountain, just watching. When things need to be done right now, I hear a whisper, it is time.
As it is right now to leave this page and to move on to living…