Time, time, always on my mind.

How much has passed, how much is ahead.

I drive myself crazy trying to live inside

Two places that don’t actually exist:

The future and the past.

I scheme and dream, how to make time last?

Never paying attention to the fact that

The only time that is true and exists

Is this moment, right now:

My fingers as I type this,

Singing crickets just outside,

Breeze gently rolling through the open window,

Caramel pumpkin swirl candle making my room sweet.

Why do we torture ourselves living outside

The present moment?

Convincing ourselves time outside of now

Is actually real

Attainable, even.

Something to be prized, longed, lamented over.

When really, what we have now,

It’s beautiful.

The present is real, tangible, experienced

By all ours senses.

Yet, we don’t have the sense

To pay attention

And let our senses lead the way.

Tasting, savoring, each second of now.

Even after all this musing, I know:

I know I will wake tomorrow

Full of good intentions

To keep myself grounded, rooted here.

Maybe I really will do it, for a few hours.

Then, the temptation will creep in

Triggered by something I see or hear

Urging me to long for a distant past

Or to act now and avoid an imagined future.

Completely forgetting the beauty of now.

But you know what I will do?

I will wake the next day,

With the same good intentions.

I may fail again and again.

Until one day, I do it.

I stay right where I am

In the beauty of now.

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