Time is my oldest friend and my newest enemy. I have always had a very satisfying relationship with time; it shaped itself for me into manageable forms, a bit like a painting or a frame, and I was able to fill the forms with exactly what
was required, even without going over the edges of predictable lines. With age, this ability is slipping, just a bit here and there, and I can no longer achieve what I used to, nor predict the number of things I can achieve in a day, or perhaps even
On one level this is disconcerting. On another, and I am just beginning to be able to discern this possibility: that something else is rising within me, some energy is intensifying, an energy much more profound and real than the passing satisfaction
of achievements within time. And entirely outside my predictable frameworks.
Perhaps I can say that this new slipping away of predictable time is slowly becoming my newest friend...but there is some ways to go yet. A spider's web rather than a clock
face with numbers...there is a shift for me.