This time you have left. This time you have. This time, you. This time. This.
This is the precious tapestry of time, born from radiant cosmic forces—swirls that inform every feeling you have ever had since you were a baby.
Life has always been about preciousness.
As far as we know, except for Homo sapiens, no earthly creature is aware of death; our “time” is limited. To help, self-help gurus offer tools for gratitude, authenticity, vulnerability, and more. Scratch beneath the surface of any of these and you will find the iridescent quality of preciousness—This Time:
Life, consciousness, health—all precious.
Birth, growth, death—each precious.
New love. This earth and its tender species. And you.
This Time, You re-imagine time as a gift. You create your own alternative to mechanical “clock time.” Initially integral to the Industrial Revolution (and now the Computer Age), clocks tend to divide and cauterize time into transactional, commercial segments. Technophilia usurps biophilia. Pharmophilia covers the wounds of stupor and pain. Preciousness simply goes away. We lose what is whole.
And yet, quantum physicists tell us time is truly mutable. It can be anything. Sacred, celestial, and whole-time still live within us. The ancient shamans, rabbis of the Sabbath, and the priests of holy-day rituals hail time as a dear quality worthy of deep contemplation.
So, if time can be anything, why not take a sacred or healthy version of This Time You Have? The word time is the most commonly used in the English language. And that is the problem: we ubiquitously “use” time, take it for granted. The existentialists claim that busying ourselves is a great way to avoid consciousness of our death.
It may take effort to cultivate a friendly and intimate relationship with something previously exploited. We may have to regain the trust of our old friend, time: sacred, celestial, and whole.
Etymology may help: Temp is an integral part of temple and contemplation. Archetypal wisdom, too: Find a sacred time-space set apart from the rest of life to contemplate that which lives beyond us. Four o’clock in the morning. The moment of dusk.
When asked about the best focus for contemplation, I suggest one might start with preciousness. This precious weave of time informs, unfolds, and enfolds our happening life, this quest for presence. Yes. Be here now. And also be here for the whole of your fleeting, extraordinary, and evanescent life.
Maybe you don’t have to achieve anything. You don’t have to forgive, be grateful, authentic, or vulnerable. Perhaps just pause, slow down, and listen.
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