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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