Sunday, September 19, 2010

Time slips by

Time slips by me, wearing a disguise
I don't notice him stuffing my youth into a pocket as he passes.
Time slips by me and covers my eyes with magical glasses
So I don't notice the lines arriving on my face, only on the faces of others.

Time slips by and takes with it my friends' children, suddenly tall
Suddenly adult, suddenly married with children of their own.
Time slips and the hours turn to days turn to weeks turn into months and it is suddenly eight months since I touched you, since I kissed you, since we said goodbye.

Time went past and suddenly I am old,
Peering into misty autumn days, worrying about pensions and arthritis.
Time and tide wait for no one and the truth is that there has only ever been this moment... this now...
That even as I grasp hold of it, time snatched back into the past.
Remember when your grandmother told you time flies...tempus fugit... yesterday?
Time flies, it was forty, no forty-five years ago and seven seemed like an age to aspire to.

Living in the moment as we all have to do has dragged you to this place, and whether all your moments spill out of time's pocket at the moment of your death and parade past you in their toe-curling glory, or whether they simply fade into the winds of eternity at your passing, remember to live before you die, experience the moments that you have to come and breathe in the pleasure of living.

Tomorrow and tomorrow are unravelling from the tapestry of time, all you can do as they pass you by and snatch your moments away is to be alert to their passing and kiss the ones you love.


For the second morning running, I have ended my dreams with a nightmare of children hanging from trees.  It wakes me immediately, although I know that impressions of time are distorted in dreams.  It's unusual for me to have nightmares and doubly unusual for them to be recurring, the same images.  It makes an impression.

Some years ago I had a series of prophetic dreams which seemed to foretell ridiculous things, like the forthcoming television programmes and newspaper articles I would read.  If it was a superpower, it seemed like a pretty useless one.

This has a different atmosphere altogether, but it is equally useless.  I don't know if the children are real, I don't know where they are, or in what time period.  The shock wakes me, and so I don't stay tuned into the image for long enough to find anything useful out.

From time to time I have had lucid dreams... perhaps I can invoke one and find out what's going on....  The images stay with me after I wake up.