Rock, Paper, Springs
Some days there is not enough time... - certainly, the time is there to be filled but the pace of things races by in a blur. Some many places to be and things to do.. .there so many worries and deadlines to swallow up that small sweet mental space that it takes to savor things. Today, I find myself wishing that the pace of life would slow down if only for a day... that kisses would stretch on a little bit longer, that I'd spend a few more moments doubled over in laughter, have more than a few spare seconds to feel the summer grass against my bare feet. I miss the lazy summers of reading Milan Kundera by the side of the apartment pool -occasionally dipping my toes in as I contemplate the mysteries of the universe and the greater mysteries of human relationships. I miss being splayed out a beach towel chatting with friends at Barton Springs as the dappled shadows of the trees grow longer and the subtle whisper of the leaves seem more musical as my stress begins to melt away. There are memories here too of reading, Alan Lightman's Einstein's Dreams - a fascinating romp through various conceptions of time... a book I got lost in while tangling my toes in the edge of my beach towel and listening to children laughing and splashing. I seem to remember losing one of my scuba fins that day to the bottom of the springs, never to return.
"Consider a world in which cause and effect are erratic, Scientists turn reckless and mutter like gamblers who cannot stop betting.... In this world, artists are joyous." - Lightman
Yes. Joyous. Perhaps they are. How could you not be, while watching the light dance across the surface of the water - a mysterious and shifting oasis of beauty, come to cool the heart of summer? I have too few days like this now. Never enough time to see everyone. Never enough time to just -Stop- and savor a simple afternoon. Perhaps my younger days were more carefree...does that mean I have myself to blame for letting my cares overwhelm me? Am I lacking a solitude, or time, or a certain form of mental discipline? All I know is that it's been far too long since I've written, or painted, or sat down by the water's edge with a good book, or spent the afternoon over a good pint and my journal. Where did I go? Did work and responsibility weigh me down to where I am too filled with worry for real thought and more vivid experience? Where did smatter of grey hair and the furrowed brow come from? I want to stretch myself out in the sun again. Feel the breeze. Laugh. Enjoy the ones I love. Look deep into the eyes of life. Trite, I know, but yet is there anything more compelling than this? Is this warmth not somehow wrapped in the basis of all good moments?
Mmmm. I think my soul needs a little vacation in the sun. My will has labored long without a break. I am always so quickly moving from one place to another, thinking all the while about the next thing, the next obligation I must meet - as if were somehow noble, necessary, and important. Is it? Is struggle and force of will that is the measure of a man, or is what that man is capable of experiencing? Are these treasured moments not a just reward, a cool dip of water from the well... I suppose ideally, everything would be integrated - this will, this mind, this spirit, this body, this capacity to love - all twined together and awakened and experiencing life all together as a functioning whole. Now there's a goal! In the meanwhile, I'll have to savor these stolen moments, these snapshots of life taken on the run - even these stolen moments of writing - proof, if of nothing else, that I am not gone, but perhaps only forgotten - like a set of keys left lying on a countertop, essential but left behind in the rush of things. I would say hopefully you can't get too far before you realize you're missing, but maybe people spend large chunks of their lives not realizing some essential part of themselves is missing - and this inner-divide has caused more than it fair share of pain. It's to be awake, and aware, and to know what we want. It's so much easier to throw yourself into work and obligations and other people's problems. Maybe simply being yourself watching a sunset in the present moment is the harder task...full of all the bitterness and the sweetness of life. What was that parable? The Buddha was talking to a group of disciples and at one point, he ceased speaking and held up a flower, and only one disciple truly experienced that flower in the moment and so reached enlightenment...
Well, I'm getting all grandiose now... but I'm smiling. I've had my moment of mental rest, before rolling up my sleeves again.
One of these days, I'll put worry to rout. I can't wait to see what life will look like in that day.