This year my wish for you, my dear readers, is for time.
Tomorrow the one I love most in this world will be on a plane headed far away to the other side of the world. The past two days I raced around to stock the refrigerator and cook him beef wellington for breakfast and rack of lamb for lunch. The weekend flew by, and on the last night I stayed up late, savoring my tiny cup of whiskey until neither of us could think of anything more to say. He hadn’t even left yet and already the vast desert of time before I’d see him again was stretching out ahead of me.
Time is slippery. Time is a tease. It carries me ever further from the days with my daughter who died. It extends endlessly, mercilessly, between the times I am with the ones I care about. Time is all around, regularly evident in my growing gray hair and nails; you can see it all over my face. It’s here ticking, marching, ruling our lives, running, …standing still. And yet, there never seems to be enough time.
So I’m wishing you time, not necessarily more time, but rather a greater awareness of the time we have. May we be more fully engaged in the moments at hand and cradle our time. And color it with joy.
Rowdy laughing time and quiet peaceful time. Time to accomplish all you want to do. Time to do nothing. Time to spare. Enough time. Time that heals and hugs you. Time that is rosy and shines like a sunrise.
I wish you the time to find yourself. I wish you time to glory in the here-and-now.
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Thank you, dear Robin. I’ll take that time and… run, sit, watch, breathe? I know we only have now. It’s curious why it’s so hard to stay here, but a wise person once said in response to complaints about worry about the future, “That’s the ego’s job.” You’re getting downright philosophical. I like it.
My son is in the US and not doing anything dangerous, but he and his wife only stayed here three nights. By 7 am, they were off to have dinner with her parents in Virginia–and I was off feeling gloomy and fretful. Sounds like you sent your son off well fed.
Another lovely piece, Robin. I love your honest mindfulness. Time is slippery indeed and also richly clothed in every minute.
Oh, I want to work on “richly clothed in every minute,” Monica. There’s a mandala in that, I’m sure. And a million stories. It makes me need to stop right now and consider this moment, my moment, sitting in the corner by my sleeping dog and the space heater, with curtains mostly closed to keep the arctic cold out of this house I built at the turn of the century when my life was crammed with people and pets coming and going who made dents in the walls and furniture that I can still see, natural light filtering in only from the tops of the windows, and a light on in the kitchen where I can see the beautiful fruit I’ve laid out for my breakfast which may not happen if I delve into this awesome moment. Yow. Thanks for giving me a minute to clothe.
Thank you, Robin. If I could “be here now,” I’d have all the time I need. Smile.
Isn’t it weird how mulling over the past and anticipating the future can keep us from wholeheartedly enjoying where we are? It’s almost impossible to turn off or re-channel the brain from these. What strange creatures we are. A toast to “being here now,” Lynne. Wishing you a very amazing in-the-moment 2017. Cheers!
Your loving words and beautiful art always touch my heart and draw me inward to that tender place that connects us all through love.
Thank you, Gayle. You have helped me to keep going. Thanks for being out there reading my posts. I hope you have an amazing New Year in 2017.