To be on the road
Means life holds some essence of
Destination,
That life expects there to be
Movement
From within you,
A shift of time and matter
From present to future.
A travel,
A journey,
An experience,
Are all products of time;
Time as a composition of
Earthly and cosmic turns,
As an unattainable concept
That we strive to perfect.
So, if time is created by man,
Is socially constructed,
And is as abstract as abstract seems to get,
How does it seem to dictate
And shape
Every aspect of living?
Time is thrown away,
Laughed off,
Ostracized,
And shoved into the corner.
Simply taken advantage of.
Yet, time is an obsession,
A daily regiment,
The global dictator
Whose reign is adamant and always demanding.
It relays and regulates every millisecond of our
Every single day,
Yet we seem to be both
Over-aware and ignorant of its concept
And its ever-lurking presence.
It’s the elephant in the room
That many do not seem to accept
With full awareness and recognition.
We have a sense of living time,
Of human time,
Of constant earthly time,
Beating in
Seconds, minutes, hours,
Turning into
Days, months, years.
Yet every single one of these is limited.
Each one is both a miniscule and a grandiose representation
Of our tread upon earth,
Of the effective sinking of our footprints into the soil,
Whether it be in forward or backward motion.
We expectantly project into the future
And hesitantly reach deeply back into our past,
Believing both will help us in our
Current situation.
Yet we don’t seem to allow ourselves to focus
On the beating time
Occurring at the fleeting moment
Of our current situation.
If the Now is disregarded,
Neglected,
Simply overlooked,
Are we then solely living for the future,
Or simply living in our past?
What happens, then, when the Now is all we live for,
Is all we believe to be relevant?
In reverence to this,
September 24th, 25th, and 26th
Were impeccable paradigms of
Moving simply and willingly
With the ebb and flow
Of life’s unpredictability
And passage of time.
It was three of us
Dropped on the side of a dirt road—
One with trickling traffic, mind you—
With hiking packs in tact and thumbs greeting
Passing cars in hopes of meeting
A willing soul.
After 22 minutes,
57 seconds,
And 15 cars,
A cloud of dust shrouded us
As a truck pulled off the road
And aided the first leg of our trek
Up the mountain.
We met willing souls for
Three days straight,
Riding in the beds of numerous pick-ups,
And hitchhiking our way
Up,
Down,
In,
And out
Of the national park.
We waded through glacier water,
Stumbled upon a rock beach island
Forward-facing a cascading waterfall,
Napping in the beating rays
With the cataract exploding at our toes.
We camped directly next to
The rushing river,
The sun setting low
On the rapids,
The sound of tires on gravel road,
The beam of intermittent headlights,
And the stars opening up the sky
Through the tree line profiles—
Like perforations in black paint—
Once nightfall hit.
We used discarded aluminum cans
To boil water for dinner
Over our campfire flames,
We snuggled up with
Hot stones in our sleeping bags
And tent,
And we continuously paused in awe
Over the idyllic spread of landscape
That was panned out
Before our very eyes.
No plan,
Just a leap of faith into the
Arms of time.
To truly make the most of
The time that is given unto us,
Do we simply find a balance between
Over-awareness and
Ignorance?
How is it that we can simply master an art of
Timely equilibrium?
No comments:
Post a Comment