Twice the Speed of Life

Hurtling down the freeway between two points in space and time,  my life passes me.  I wave after it longingly.  Life is too fast.

I look for analogies, for ways to create meaning out of something that feels complicated and confusing.  This confusion frightens and captivates me.  It is something that pokes through my dreams and shakes me away in the middle of the night.  I am desperate to create order out of what feels like chaos.  A tightness creeps across my chest and squeezes.  I sigh, filling my lungs with air as if air is time and there will never be enough.  I gasp and then quickly smile.  My panic must be kept secret.  It is private and I have staked my claim to it.  I do not want to share.

An image presses down on me as I concentrate on my breathing.  In and out, holding it for just a second or two before releasing the air that is also time.  In between the breaths I see myself.  I am a tiny fishing vessel caught in the wave of a tsunami.   The shore looms large, then larger still.  I close my eyes and see my fragile vessel turn to matchsticks as I am battered against the houses and cars and places of business that once sat tall and proud, a quiet seaside village.  Now I am only splinters.  Thousands of splinters sucked back out to sea.  I am not in charge here.  My will can not hold back the water, the wave, or time.  I am cast out upon the waters.  I am thousands of pieces and I am one.

I breathe.

Looking up at the sky, I see the beauty of the clouds.  The sky is a bit like the sea.  It hugs the horizon with the same sure grip, two old friends shaking hands.   There is no separating the sea and the sky.  The sky and the sea wear many faces.  No two days are ever the same.  Each moment in time, each sea, each corner of sky, unique passing into obscurity the moment after.  Can I expect anything different than the fate of sea and sky?

“Yes,” the sky whispers.

It plays with light and sends me a rainbow as a sign.  It is not an arch but a small, singular ribbon of light.  No beginning.  No end.

“You are more rainbow, than boat.  You are more wave than vessel.”  This is what the sky tells me.

Turning my face toward it, I silently reply, “I love it when you whisper sweet nothings in my head.”

Deeply, slowly, I breathe in time.

I am the person behind the words printed here. I write because my heart will not allow me the option of NOT writing. It has taken me half a life time to discover this basic truth, but now that I have, writing is as natural as breathing. This is where my breath takes the form of words.


I am reading

The Miracle Morning: The Not-So-Obvious Secret Guaranteed to Transform Your Life (Before 8AM)
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