Friday, January 10, 2014

Time and the prudent man

I'm interested in time; and I often engage myself by calculating how long it actually takes to do certain things, drive certain distances, and so on, because it seems we pay so little attention to it. Our attitude towards time is casual, as though there were an infinite amount of it (for ourselves, that is) and it could be expended in any way we wanted it to.

This is in stark contrast to the absolute reality that the hammer could fall on any of our lives at any instant, extinguishing them. We always assume that things will go forward, that the projects we have will be completed; and yet we have no idea. So any project and every project that we've undertaken may be abruptly terminated by the sudden end of our life; how, then, important are our projects? If we knew our lives were about to end tomorrow, getting that exercise or taking our vitamins would no longer be a priority. All the books we had stacked up to read would no longer be meaningful; a different and far more urgent set of questions would confront us.

We are always, metaphorically speaking, in this condition; yet we get the exercise, take the vitamins, and read the books, as though everything were a given.

Life becomes quite different when one tries to extract the meaning directly from one's living presence and circumstances. It has the peculiar effect of rendering a great deal of activity superfluous; any organic sense of being automatically reduces the amount of frenzied outer activity that one engages in. Much of it begins to seem pointless. Now, let's be frank; this doesn't excuse one from the engagement, and one eventually has to reengage, if one reaches a point in one's work when one sees these things. Nonetheless, the attachment to events is different.

It reminds me of my bafflement when people ask me how I am, or how things are going. There is no way to answer these questions; in me, everything is measured only through the process of the inner connection, and the relationship to an energy that expresses itself, matters and circumstances that are as far removed from the question the person is asking me as anything can be — and I know this. If I actually tried to tell the truth to anyone about what I am examining inwardly and where the important centers of gravity in my life lie, it would take hours or days, and the person asking is without any doubt whatsoever uninterested in the true and real answer to this question of how I am, and how things are going.  I am expected to deliver a superficial, ordinary, and predictable answer.

And I do.

On the heels of this note, what is the prudent inner relationship to this question?

Time is only ever now. The instance of consciousness in now is measured in relationship to the organic inner connection; and this has many levels of intensity. I'm not under control of that; if, however, I invest myself as deeply as possible in the cellular sense of Being, there is the potential to understand consciousness as a phenomenon arising from that sense, and stand between that sense and a much higher level.

This relationship is not measured through what we call time, but proximity; and the overarching question in life, the one that takes up all the "time" one has, is always the question of proximity. How proximal is the relationship to the higher? Everything begins here, and everything ends here. Time, circumstance — as I call them, objects, events, circumstances, and conditions — are all subordinate to this question.

 And that's how I am.

Hosannah.

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