What is time? What is time for?
The measurement of a breath, the space between breaths.
Sleeping, waking, toil, and play.
The passage of a season in planting, tending, harvesting, and preservation.
The celebration of birthdays, holidays, moments of intensity.
The currency of our lives.
In the time it took for me to mulch my tomatoes, a family of sparrows hatched and fledged from an abandoned harvest basket on our porch. The sparrows and I were busy with the same work – toiling with the materials at hand in an effort to feed our families. The sparrow children grew up faster than ours, though some days, it feels like it may have just been a week ago that ours were born, too.
Time stretches and contracts. It is constant but not consistent.
Once I heard my Tibetan Buddhist friends say that time is our own creation.
They weren’t talking about creation in the Biblical sense, of dividing the day and night. They were talking, as they often did, about perception, and our perception of time. In this age, when busy-ness is glorified and nearly inescapable, it’s worth consideration.
If we didn’t create the way we look at time – who did? If we didn’t decide how to use our precious time – who does? Who tells us whether “time is short” or “we have all the time in the world”? We do. We learn it early on, from others who have learned before us. And we are given training in schools to unify our perceptions and hustle when the bell rings, regardless of the task at hand. We are not taught to question this perception, and it takes a substantial degree of study and reflection to re-train these perceptive reflexes. Here lately I’m thinking it’s a worthy effort.
There are never enough hours in my day. I’ve heard myself say and think that phrase over and over. How exhausting! It’s high time to break that habit. Not that I will all of a sudden get everything done that I hoped to do in a day, but maybe I will be relaxed about the fact that my life is full. It’s full of beauty, food, friends and family. Full to bursting with the stuff of life and love. What is time for but to love?
Last year, as we tapered off our writing habits, it felt like there was just too much going on to be able to write about it and be honest. And of course there wasn’t time.
Now, it feels like there’s too much going on, and to NOT write about it wouldn’t be honest. There’s no more or less time than ever. But I have missed this place to share thoughts at hand, visions, the beauty of life out here, so I’m choosing to take the time.
Because, this is another important thing that time is for – sharing.