In Journey

I know, aren’t we all. But perhaps, more true for some than others. Or perhaps more deliberate for some than others. Or maybe more acute.

This photo is from a recent gathering I co-hosted at which all were invited to create a “six word” story (or six phrases) to represent how they are. And further, to bring an item or object to help introduce a bit of the story of who they are.

A particular form of journey that I find myself in is my hunger to reclaim the timeless. It’s my hunger for Kairos, not just Chronos.   For spaciousness, not just the precision of short increments stacked on top of each other. It’s pace and the essentialness of wandering. Not just speed and obligatory fulfillment.

The one-minute timer measures time. However, the context that it comes from for me is a men’s group that is timeless. It is one at which anyone is welcome to reach to the center and turn the timer over. It’s purpose is to invite pause. Or reflection. Or quiet.

Even as I write this, I can feel the fullness of my day creeping up upon me, whispering with urgency — “Click publish! Get on to the next! You have a lot to do. Just get it done.” These are patterns deeply ingrained in most of us. Carved like glacial canyons.

I will click publish. But then, I think, just sit quietly for a bit to hold myself in the journey of timeless, just long enough to feel its freedom.

Time and Time Again

I woke up this morning not wanting to look at my clock. Not wanting to jump into my 6:00 routine. Not wanting to jump into the myriad of thoughts that so quickly accompany the beginning of a busy day. I showered. I sad quietly. Lights off. I paid attention to the daylight arriving rather than my ever-ready iPhone. I drummed a bit. Sat some more. Fed my dog. And then wrote these words.


Time and Time Again

Time and time again
I wish I could be outside of time.
I forget how refreshing it is
to be free of cramming
or obligation
or muting an insecurity
into five minute increments.

It’s impressive to do so, I suppose.
It’s also oppressive.
When did this moving train that is time
become runaway?
Oh yah, I guess I have a little to do with that.

Sometimes, some times,
I give myself permission
to be outside of time.
I know it’s a perceptual trick
but it has tremendous value
and feels really cool.
I don’t look at the clocks.
I don’t look at my phone.

When I do this,
outside of time,
I remember, only then,
how much I needed it,
and wonder, again,
how could I ever have forgotten this.
Like quiet, spring sun
warming and relaxing every cell in my face.

I crave challenging myself
into not just five minutes of this
and not just a morning,
but a day, or a week —
to return to what I know inside of me as
a different clock (the paradigm is pervasive isn’t it)
and rhythm.

To be fair, my tether to being outside of time,
often, is to set an alarm.
I have a commitment at 9:00.
Setting an alarm for 8:45 is important.
Yet it is very different — this one time alarm,
and me not tracking when it will ring —
than checking my watch, phone,
my computer or microwave oven
to reassure me of not misusing time.

I am for being on time.
Good system.

I am not for having the timeless part of me
enslaved and confined.
I am not for this in any of us.
Chronos, yes respect it.
Kairos, equally so.
Practice it.
And periodically insist upon it.

I don’t want my life, our lives, to become
a production line in which
the parts keep coming incessantly
and I fear them overflowing onto the floor
if I turn away for even a moment
to feel the sun.

Time and time again
I yearn to be timeless.
To take off my clothes and adornments,
that dress up the cultural pattern
of speed and efficiency.
I yearn to return to a more naked state of being
the watch put aside
the calendar tucked away
the forethought and planning suspended
to instead, hear the sparrow’s chirp
outside my window
that goes largely unheard because
I’m so committed to time.

Time and time again,
I hunger to remember timeless.
It too, is who I am,
and who we are.