The most complicated relationship for humans is the one with time, I reckon.
Some are aware of it, mostly are not. Still so it goes.
I myself struggled all my life fighting time, trying to ride it or to be in peace with it – depending on the period or on the circumstance. Then I learnt: all that was inappropriate, or even useless.
I saw that the only way I could deal with it reasonably is being one thing with it.
Like a sailor in the open ocean, becoming one with its blue tumultuous vastity and its dark quiet depths.
This is probably the only way to survive it at the same time with being aware of the journey, aware of yourself and aware of what’s around as well as behind and ahead. Sort of aware, ‘cause we are just humans after all.
How to do that? Only looking at oneself in the mirror, through the mirror and through oneself. Honestly, sincerely, bravely. Without shelter, without filter, without illusion. Naked, shelterless. Ready to take the blame, the shame, the absurd, the insanity, the pain, the nonsense.
Facing it all, escaping nothing.
This is the only way to be present to yourself, which is the main step. The most meaningful one. To be real in the stream of time.
To be fully alive.
To be a person instead of a pale ghost, of an empty shell, of a vainly smiling puppet.
Sadly I so rarely see that all around me, miles or thousands of miles around.
What I mostly seize is people alterating their only reality through the filter of religion, magic, politics, cultural identity, social media identity, whatever kind of fake identity.
Because they don’t bear the weight of their truth, of their limits, of their fragile imperfect nature ultimately. It’s so foolish, yet so human.
Running away or hiding only leads to an eternal return of the same wrong choices, the same wrong mistakes, the same wrong pains, the same dead end streets, the same denial of the freedom of one’s soul, the same absence in the stream of time.
Those will be autumn leaves forever going with the wind.
I have no solution to that ‘cause there is no one and only answer.
And even if there was, I couldn’t have it since I’m just a simple sailor in the ocean of time.
What I can do is, when I shortly approach the land, just sharing the song of my journey, if there are ears willing to hear its melody.
Then I must resume my navigation, ‘cause there is no rest for the wicked. Where wicked simply stands for us humans.
In the end, by the way, whatever past and future might be or mean, we only exist now,
in the present.