September 30
Eternity is made of nothing but Nows. No other time — only without end, and wide as a home.
Poems, “Forever – is composed of Nows” (freely rendered)
Listening mode
Eternity is made of nothing but Nows. No other time — only without end, and wide as a home.
“For now” is a friendly phrase. You take the job for now, move into the small flat for now, eat at the camping table for now. The phrase holds a door open. Whatever begins this way doesn't have to prove itself yet, and you don't have to commit to it yet.
Sometimes the phrase outstays the intention. After three years the camping table is still in the kitchen. In that time you have worked, seen friends, had good weeks and bad ones. Even so, part of you treated those years like a waiting room: as time before real life, which was supposed to begin as soon as things had taken their proper shape.
In hindsight, that time can't be rebooked as preparation. It was already the thing itself. That doesn't make the provisional wrong. Some things you could only try out because they didn't have to be forever.
The harder part is that, from the inside, you can't tell how long the provisional will last.
You have spent many evenings at the camping table by now. One leg wobbles, and you know exactly how to hold it steady with your knee.
