Beyond the clock and the digital timers….
The sun rises and sets and rises again,
the years turn like the winding of a dial never-ending,
the eternal return returns again.
Time is a circle, not a line,
and yet you believe you were born,
that you have a middle life,
and that you die in the end.
The mind creates lines on the sharp edge of a circle
the soft curves of the body electric,
the body, who knows how to let go,
of fluids and cells and excrement.
always dying and living again.
Mind is the thing that holds on to the grotesque,
the cadaver and the death,
posting pictures if it fails.
The ego is like a coffin that pretends to be a throne,
a gnat that pretends to be king,
who dies in the day that it has lived.
Years twirling and spinning as a dancer,
the ego is stiff and tall and hard – cold
the stronger the ego the holds,
the more fearful it is of Time,
of the twirling of the years,
of the coming to be
the passing away,
the never endings,
the whens and whys
the now.
Meditation: On Time
Soul in the machine 