The time is now (let's roll with it)

An epiphany of the most simplest terms

Nov 03, 2024

The clock sits by my tableside, circling. The numbers, from 1 to 12, circling. Round and around and it will never stop circling, never stop going, even when I’m gone, is it?

Is that the reality of my existence? A loop on the never-ending looping system, from 1 to 12, 0 to 100, Monday to Sunday and back round again. A loop that doesn’t stop when you do—it carries on going, this loop, it doesn’t care for you, this loop; it survives, and you don’t, this loop. So what must I do but watch this loop move through me—watch time move through my years, passing by; passing by are the years I still think I’m 23 in—passing by, timed memories and weekends that arrive to Monday, again, looping - and this looping won’t ever stop. Not even when I do.

So what must I do? Other than watch this clock, loop, from 1-12; 1 to 12 and back round again, whilst I’m there, watching the looping move into a place where I must be in as well? Right? I must be moving into where this loop is going, from 1-12 - forward…yet somewhat never moving anywhere. From 1 to 12, and back round again, yet, in some way, we’re moving forward. Are we?

Years are passing through me, I’m seeing mini wrinkles form, my younger brothers are not young anymore. All this is happening in front of my eyes, yet I am not seeing it. I cannot see them moving forward, I cannot see anything moving forward, I only feel still, there, being: me, as the world reminds me of another Christmas soon arriving. Time feels still, with me, yet the clock continues to circle round, back to its starting point. And each time the starting point is met, that’s one minute gone through me, one minute I did not feel go through me—I still feel the same? I always have done? Yet we’re meant to be forward in time? Anyway.

Time has more power over me. It will survive forever. And I won’t. It’s quite confronting, that. To see something that I look at every day as an indicator of my mortality. Confronting, yet, motivating? Because it turns out that the world’s functioning doesn’t depend on me, totally—the world isn’t reliant on me to continue going, it will keep going anyway. So that’s cool. That’s a weight lifted off. The constraint of time holds it’s own responsibility and no matter how late I wake up on Monday morning, it will continue doing its same thing. So, heck, I’ll stay up all night tonight! Why not? Time will keep doing its thing, anyway. I am not chained to it.

Though, thinking about time feels as if it’s running out. As if I’m running out of time. And in my attempts to catch up to it, I put time limits on myself. I must make x amount of money in the next 2 years. I must have a house by 30, I must be married by 32, I must choose based on my years—based on my number, alive; for each number is a reminder of the time I lose, each number I lose time; it is not a happy day on my birthday. It is a sad one.

Time has chained me to its constraints. A loop, I’m in, a loop of 1-12, Monday to Sunday, January to December, and back round again. I must start and end within these cycles, the beginning is a means to the end; the end is not a means to the beginning. It is forever moving forward, we are forever moving forward, yet constrained in ever-going loops that I must be within—I am reminded that with every loop I start, every loop must end—midnight, Sunday, December; oh, what a sad loss this is, a sad loss of another loop, the end: I am in, and the end I will keep being in with each loop that circles back round to its end. I am in the loops, the loops pass through me, and I don’t seem to be moving forward—rather stuck in the loops I am reminded of, the time; the month; the year; and before I know it I’m 27, and the friends’ babies I once knew are 5 years old now?…

“Where does time go?!” we’d say, as a passing comment of the simplest terms. And I’d actually think about that question, for once.

I’d ponder on it. And I wouldn’t be able to put my finger on it, because it’s time; and it’s ever-ongoing, there is nothing to grasp onto with time—you just have to roll with it—but I’d think about it, this time, and know that our time is entrapped in the loops we are reminded of each waking day; the birthdays reminding us of a year passed, the Sunday evening reminding us of a week gone. I’d only have a chance to think about the time passed with these timestamps, and hesitantly look forward to Monday as if I’ve been given a chance for a new, fresh week ahead.

But Friday would come around again, and I’d be glad for the weekend. And Sunday would come again, and I’d be doomed for the Monday. Repeat.

And this would repeat until the end of my years. New Years eve is a celebration for the year to come, yet, it is a reminder of a year passed, again, as New Years Day arrives and along with it: New Years Resolutions! As if we have a fresh chance at making this the year that we run a marathon, start a business, lose weight, go Vegan and hope that the constraints at which we put ourselves in gift us our chance at doing, becoming, achieving what we want. We wait for time to begin, again, for us to start, again, whilst all the time the loops are passing through us: only showing us beginnings and ends as if they are permission slips to act upon our own free will but at the same time, we are continuously being reminded of the time we have not spent on ourselves—passing, by, the hour, the days, the weeks, the years—as New Years arrives to grant us a chance at reclaiming it back, again, our chance at doing something we want, this time, because in the other times we did not have enough time to do it. We were constrained by time and awaited it’s end to start living, again.

But the clock in front of me continues looping, from 1 to 12—beginning to end— reminding us of the time we have spent and the lessening time we have left, with each passing loop a step forward in time but to us, a repetition of the cycles we are in. Time is passing through us yet we see only beginning to end: each minute, each day, each week, each year, as reminders of the time being spent as we wait for its next end to begin again.

Sounds distracting, if you ask me. This constant pressure of time’s cycles. Ending.

And beginning, sure. But as soon as you start you are reminded of the lessening time you have left. And that’s each day. Each week, each month, each year. Before you know it it’s 5 years past and your friend’s baby has grown 6x it’s body weight as you’re confronted with the 5 years you must have gone through too, albeit, not with the growth that she’s gone through. You were stuck in time’s loops, waiting for an end to summon your beginning. “5 years passed, has it? It sure doesn’t feel like it.”

That’s because you weren’t living in it. You were waiting, hesitating to start tomorrow, next month, next year, for the life you’d lead if you weren’t waiting on time’s permission to grant you access to a flow you may only achieve if you let go of time’s reminders of an ending that isn’t even true. Time will continue, Sunday does not mean an end, New Year’s eve does not finish anything; these are numbers attached to the sun’s cycle that have no benefit to us other than to organise maritime navigation and now, zoom calls. But we have become entrapped in the time’s cycles since the day we were born. I’m sure time will not disappear from our life, however, the cycles we are in need not dictate to us when to start and when to begin. If you feel tired, sleep. If you feel motivated, write. Time will move through you anyway, and you won’t be amongst its journey forever.

Use time when you need it, of course. Like for work meetings, or catching the specific train you paid for. But in the spaces where you do not have to rely on time to be somewhere that is asked of you, let go of it. Sit, rest, walk, dance, draw, converse, do whatever you feel drawn to do and do not look at the time. Do not care for it. You do not need to. And flow will arrive. Any reminders of the time is a reminder of time ending - which it isn’t, it never is—and a reminder of time ending is a reminder that you must perform to a level of satisfaction that makes the time you spent on doing said action all worth it. Because you are spending, time, you are always spending, time—supposedly. Which you aren’t. You are rolling with time (as you always are, it never stops). Release the fear that time is running out because all thats doing is making you set expectations for the cycles of time that you ‘have’ within your grasp—until those expectations run dry because you soon realise that time is not in your grasp at all, and all that you wished you’d done with the time that you had fell short to the time that continued ending, time continued ending, in the cycles you attached your actions to— and so, you could not get into flow doing those actions at all. If you could—get into flow—then perhaps you would've ventured deep into a state of fulfilment, creation, movement, inspiration that would’ve bypassed the concept (constraints) of time’s cycles and allowed you to roll with the flow of time that is always, and will always be, attached to us anyway. Regardless of it being a Sunday or a Monday. Same time, same flow, the day doesn’t matter unless you have a work meeting.

Then, you would have felt those 5 years passed because you were living with it. You were within the time amongst you. You were rolling with it:

Life’s flow-state.

. . .