Thursday, January 17, 2013

Number Seventy Seven

Time doesn't contain anything.  The dates of a lifespan do not hold that life.  The years of a particular war, or even an empire, cannot contain the conflict or a civilization.  Everything that has happened continues to happen.  It goes on outside of time, in a form that can be reentered at any moment.

The lowest, least authentic form of reentry is memory.  More powerful is dissociation, which brings the past into the present so seamlessly that the current moment is obscured.

At some level, the tape of every cruelty, every conversation, every creative moment, every helpless scream is still playing.  It is going on, exactly as it occurred, waiting to be revisited.  Time can't touch it.

The whip cracking on a slave stone mason, building the pyramids, can be felt right now.  The lesson is waiting.  The wisdom in knowing each form that pain takes -- is waiting.  Each moment of hope, of arrogance, of love, of running away is still alive.  Waiting.

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