On this last Saturday of September, in the week we shifted from summer to fall, the mind dwells momentarily on time and how we do our best to manipulate it. In the end it is always a futile cause. Time wins out over everything, and everybody. All we can do is chase it, grab for it, and try to trick it, but the only thing we can ever truly count on is running out of it.
We think we can still it when we go to sleep, but that’s a trick we play on ourselves. Time continues on undaunted and blithely unaware of our efforts. We make our beds into sanctuaries. We pray in different ways to appease the unwavering march. We attempt to contain it in watches and clocks, skewing it on impossible-to-program microwaves and car consoles, purposely setting it just a bit ahead to fool ourselves into thinking we have more of it, but none of this matters.
We cannot beat it, but we can dip into its relentless flow, like stepping into a swiftly-moving river or the churning waves of the ocean. Giving in and letting go can be a powerful choice, and sometimes it takes more control and effort than fighting back.
Swimming in the sheets of my sanctuary, untangling myself from the flights of night, I groggily surface and allow the morning to wash over me.
Time. And time again.
