To me, time has always been intricately related to the divine. If time were a river, it would be all rivers, from the gentle Amazon to the thundering Niagara. The uncontrollable flow that ravages as readily as it heals, raises cities as readily as it forms them.
And as like before, my relationship with time is less than optimal. I find myself impatient, waiting for my tea to brew, at the same time as wishing that the pace of the world would slow down enough for me to enjoy that tea. But those small inconsistencies are reflective of larger ones. Time lately has rarely been on my side. In fact, it seems to take all possible ‘other sides’ especially the ones that don’t make sense in conjunction. Time is one of the few things in my life that I would claim to need more of, but want less.
Yet I know that the source of this contradiction is the desire to control something essential, yet mysterious, and the urge to have neither more nor less of it, but better understanding of what I already have.