Notes on Time

The greatest curse of being human
is not so much that we feel or are aware that we exist,
but rather, that we feel or are aware that we exist through time.

The humdrum repetitions inside my head
only worsen the realisation that we are able to remember
the past, to think upon our future in light of our past,
making it all so much more poignantly exacting.

Yes, cursed be time.
Our bones rattle like the rattle of dice,
like the rattling of the universe.
I can see it in my hands;
I look at it in the creases of my face.
The maddening of it all.
As we stretch ourselves,
and are stretched by time—
how we struggle to even perceive it.

But blessed be time,
for in it is our salvation.
Just as in it are the hopes of unwritten futures.

Though it is with the weight of time
that we suffer in anguish;
it is time, and through time,
that we seek our own salvation.
We feverously desire to leap
through the continual affliction, to the point
of catharsis, of release;
wishing things would be so much easier—but they are not.

Time is slaver.
And yet time is salvation.

M.M. — 27-Dec-2014