Busy Bee runalong into the day
Eyes open, awake
Feet plant firmly on the floor.
Check the phone for messages,
Check the computer for emails
Check the newspaper for disasters,
Too keep the hounds
Of quiet, unclaimed time
Such an inadequate amount of time
Twenty-four hours seems.
To work, to eat, to sleep
To love or collect stamps or
To gain one moment of substance in a substance-less world.
Needless, then to imagine time enough
To purge oneself of mind and body
And heart, beating ever more loud,
Counting off time like a clock.
To simply be,
And embrace the paradox
Of letting time stop,
While acknowledging that Time is unstoppable,
We must let the paradox go,
And allow time to flow through us
Like a stream,
Like blood into the heart,
Careless of its passage,
And count every second
A drip droplet of substance
-Linds (yoga extremest, poet)
-Me (awesome yard worker, self portrait photographer)