To see time as something to be experienced rather than an obstacle to be overcome is something that I try to integrate to my life.
I would hate to see my life reduced to an abhorred sequence of minutes, and hours, and days that have to be overcome..
what then? What lies on the other side? Fulfilment? A goal, a destination? In the process, we overlook the ticking clock inside us that whispers that your life is here and now…
I know people who literally ‘switch off’ during the week and see week days as mere obstacles to their enjoyment of the weekend. The weekend becomes the be-all and the end-all of their existence; each weekend is like a beacon in the mist, except that the mist is one’s life and those weekends are a sequence of such beacons: one after the other being extinguished as time passes by, relegating one to the shadows of existence again and again, until one catches sight of the next beacon, the next weekend.
Already, they are alienated from part of their lives. That part ceases to belong to them… they hibernate somewhere deep in their minds; hidden in a secret coccon; cartoon ostritch heads in the ground, wishing time away… bad time… cruel time… boring time… unbearable time…
There is so much to see and experience in this world, such a wide palette of sensations, emotions, perceptions … I am not speaking of world tours or treks to inaccessible and highly exotic places. I speak of seeing variety, seeing life in its diversity around oneself. Surely many of us walk about like half-blinded zombies, lurching on through life, perhaps with misguided notions we choose to call ambition and choice and determination. These small deaths are so terrifying…all the more so since we are halfway there…one feet treading air, the other feet still undecided as to whether to leave the cliff edge or not.
I cannot and will not live as a vegetable. I refuse to be entombed in that body that sometimes lazily refuses to cooperate; if there is such a thing as a soul – mortal, immortal, whatever – living a life as many around me do would surely have stifled it. The world is still recipient and womb to so much beauty yet … more than we could possibly manage to destroy. Part of that beauty is reflected in us, but the mirror of our soul now has become so much blurred and stained, is it wonder that light rarely reflects off its surface?
There is hope yet. I dare not speak for the entire world, just like the grain of sand cannot speak for the beach and even less for the ocean. I’ll try to live. It’ll be good to rest one’s feet when I do reach my destination, but for the time being, let me appreciate and experience the journey.