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Posts Tagged ‘time’

Have you noticed?  You are getting older.  So am I.

At my annual physical recently – a systems check of moving parts. cardiac, respiratory, gastrointestinal, musculature, neurological, and dermatological.  Blood pressure — the force at which blood courses through veins to keep major organs fit.  Blood pressure is a Goldilocks statistic — neither high nor low is just right.

In concert, these systems create the song that is you. Regardless of age, the collaboration of those systems, and that song, is changing, even now. The breath and thought of today cannot be the same tomorrow.

The pithy slogan “Change Happens,” reminds those with concretized views that change comes to each life.  The deeper truth is we are change, conditioned upon those beautiful physiologic systems and the environments in which we find ourselves.

Sudden or chronic illness, or accident, drives home the message. If lucky, we are allowed to live within the one body granted us until it ages out of the game. Generation after generation until humans are no more.

Life is anguish for some, joy for others, maybe most of the time somewhere in between. Bridging the space between sky and earth, our bodies are the gift that allow us to feel, express, reflect, participate. They ferry us where we want to go on the planet, in its waters, and above.

Experience is the natural and sometimes hard-won aim of biological life.  When systems fail and the body slumps, the kernel that is us trills on, star stuff once again. The drama, accomplishments, losses, and possessions mean naught but as the memories of others that will fade in time.

At dawn, noon, or dusk, mind the blood, mind the body, and enjoy your glorious time while it lasts.

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I watch my hands finger the small bootie once worn by my children. The tag inside reads “6/12 months.” This was a first shoe for two toddlers just learning to walk.

I see my fingers move, thinning, loose skin on the back of my hands piling up and relaxing. These are ‘doing’ hands.  I have thoughtlessly relied upon them forever.

My children are decades into their lives now. One grew into shoes he used to walk completely out of my life.  The other wears shoes that keep him in motion, learning, building, and exploring.

And here remains the small bootie and the hands that helped those tiny feet touch down on the earth so very long ago.

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Age bequeaths change.

Change gives us life and flesh. In turn, change leads us to shed those gifts, eventually.

I am older than I was, and hopefully younger than I will be. It is the same with you.

White, brown, black, pale, dark, yellow, poor, comfortable, avaricious

Genetically conferred containers, in the flesh, while we are.

Take a moment, take a lifetime, soul etches experience from the inside out

You see my face, I see yours, a book and its cover

Scramble for status, to have and to get—does it really matter?

Horseman, pass by.

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The unassuming nature of the word “quiet” belies its importance in the smaller and larger matters of life.

Used to gear down a small child, describe an uneasy peace between adults or countries, demonstrate a quality of character, or illustrate the strength of a musical or other passage, quiet capably holds down its real estate in the semantic world.

Today, I closed my bedroom door quietly, to support the sleep of an older child who is off tomorrow to the start of the next year at university.

As I pulled the door to, the joy of his arrival, the sadness of his departure, and the giftedness of it all played into the careful maneuvering of the door.

Letting go of the handle, the scene sped forward to quietly closed doors in houses that are less full, and further on to the unbroken quiet of homes where years have emptied the beds of all but the elderly.

Yet quiet also beckons reflection. It conjures memory, pierces the veil of everyday illusion, and offers opportunity to sort and put pieces together—or back together.  Quiet is both a universal solvent and adhesive that is a close relative of time and perhaps even soul itself.

Though simple, there is a lot to the word “quiet.”

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Updates

No time, every second spent twice.  Finally space to fill, computer on…no “connection.”

The screen tells me “working on updates.”

Progressing from 100 percent, to zero percent, to 30 percent complete.

Life–you start at 100 percent, and spend the rest of the time working on updates.

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What would you choose to do, if you knew you could not fail?

How would you spend moments,  make memories, and move forward?  What would you do?

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Night Air

Eternity is out tonight, crowding empty streets.

Time’s arrow, the young turn elderly, generations blend, age, pass.

Unnoticed except by some in the larger moments.

Perhaps it is the snowflakes.  Countless souls against the night sky.

Something in the air, eternity is out tonight.

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Anonymous souls are out tonight, on the road, in stores, in their homes.  Gather tradition close, loved ones closer, the depth in this night draws near.

If presents be had, they are opened, old wounds fare the same.  For those who observe Christmas, or did at one time, this is a night when years pass by in the air.  They lightly brush the face just enough to be noticed before moving slowly on.

Where I am, there is snow, quiet, icy in places, fresh in others.  Life is like that.

Eternity is an effective leveler, anonymous souls are out tonight.

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On walkabout.  Misty day, saturated colours, melted snow.

Rounding down a street, two pieces of a sectional couch wait patiently by the curb.  Trash day, on their way out.

Next door, a big screen television of relatively recent vintage eyes its prospects as it too accompanies a trash can.

A few more paces and an elderly woman friend stops her car to talk to me.  Just back from an ultrasound, some problems, hoping it is nothing.

On the seat by her purse is a tidy bag of plastic Christmas cookie cutters.  Small talk finds its way there.  She does not make cookies anymore and neither apparently does her daughter.  Do I want them? Fond of such things, I readily accept and thank her.

Hopefully we will know about the ultrasound soon.

Of things that wait patiently.  Once new, the future of these things is now not so clear.  The cookie cutters will soon mingle with their kind, holding much more than the shapes they represent.

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Looking at a wall calendar,  it was September before I knew it.  The picture is Zions National Park in Utah, a place I have set foot.

I know the texture of the scrub grass, the look, feel and warmth of sandstone and the terrain it creates.  Dry places interspersed by cold stream or river.  Changing treeline, now deciduous, then coniferous, I have touched those anonymous twisting trunks.  Blue plateau in the distance.  Shape, color and setting unique on the planet.  Even the air, the whiff of sage in the breeze.  Sparse.  Big sky, I can breathe.

We visit places, but if touched deeply, do we ever leave?  Transit through memory of image.  Is it illusion that I sit in a chair, in my home office, washing machine gently chugging, crickets sounding through open windows?  With age I understand no tickets are needed to ride.

I wish I were there.  Maybe I am.

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